Shadows of an Angel
by Bella Winter Rose
Summary: As Max and Logan's daughter approaches her Sweet Sixteen, she's learning more and more about her parents than herself. COMPLETE AND UNABRIDGED!!! ENJOY!!!
1. Prologue

            "Good night, Eva."

            I kissed my daughter's cheek and sighed, stroking her dark hair. She slept on, unaware of my presence. Sadly, I turned and snapped my fingers which brought me back Up. Zack was waiting for me.

            "You're torturing yourself, Maxie," he pointed out despondently.

            "How?" I asked.

            "By knowing that you can't be with her the way a real mother can."

            "I can still be a mother even though I'm in Here."

            "Whatever," he mumbled.

            "Do you think she misses me?" I looked back Down. I could see my Eva, now only three, asleep in her room through my special window.

            "I doubt it."

            "Zack!" I whirled around in a rage. "You may have been up Here longer than I have but I think I know a little bit more than you do about my child! How heartless can you be?"

            "I don't have a heart," Zack shot me a wry smile. "We're _dead_, Maxie."

            I put my hands over my ears. "No!" 

            "Max, stop." He roughly pulled my arms down. "You have to stop denying the fact that you're no longer in Seattle, no longer with Logan, no longer with Eva."

            "It's not fair," I looked over my shoulder and still saw the image of Eva in a deep slumber in her pink room that I had painted only weeks before she was due. I remember what I had told Logan that day,

            "We're having a girl, I just know it!"

            Logan leaned against the wall and laughed, "How do you know?"

            "Because we're daughter-makers," I sighed blissfully and smeared pink paint across his nose and kissed him.

            A lump caught in my throat. Never again would my lips feel the tingle of my husband's kiss.

            "Snap out of it," Zack said icily. "Live with it. Deal with it."

_            I hate you for this, Zack,_ I thought bitterly. "I'm still going to visit her, Zack. Every night. With_out_ fail. I _will _see my child and _They _can't stop me."

            "Whatever," he stressed for the fourth time today. "Keep in mind that They don't really allow stuff like this.

            "How can They not let me see Eva? It would kill me if I never saw her again, never saw her grow up. I still want to be there for her first day of school and her first date and her wedding and—"

            "Okay, okay, I get it," Zack said in a quieter voice. His intense brown eyes flitted from one side to the other as his thoughts tried to keep up with him. "There's a rule I heard about," he stated calmly. "If you die in childbirth, you're allowed to call your child Up once they're of age."

            "Of age?" 

            "Eighteen."

            "So…when Eva's eighteen, I can bring her up here?"

            "Only for about thirty minutes."

            "How unfair." I turned back to the window, half-listening to what my brother had to say. Eva looked so much like me. She had my pouty lips, my almond shaped eyes, my hair color and former curls. Even in slumber she was my twin. A doppelganger. A special, irreplaceable part of me. I stood very still and watched her every movement. Only a minute later, a figure moved outside Eva's door and my heart skipped a beat. Who else was hovering over my child? I watched intently. Logan emerged from the shadows moments afterward. I raised an eyebrow in surprise. I'd thought he was asleep. He'd aged terribly since I'd died. It showed in his face and there was a deep sadness etched behind his once brilliant cerulean eyes. Even at 43, an age that was almost impossible for him to be, he looked at least fifty. My heart went out to him and my eyes became teary. I watched him as he wheeled into Eva's feminine bedroom and stroked her hair. He fixed the covers on her tiny bed and kissed her forehead. I was very still and I listened very carefully and I swear I heard him crying. Then he spoke in a hushed tone,

            "Max, she's so beautiful…just like you…the first time I laid eyes on her I knew she would look exactly like you and I would have two of the most beautiful women in the entire world in my life."

            My heart melted. I watched him remove his glasses and wipe a few fugitive tears off of his cheek.

            "Now," he said, his voice cracking, "you're gone and I feel as if I have nothing else to live for…I have no zeal for life left in me, Max…it's all gone. Everything I built my life upon…vanished."

            With tears running down my own cheeks, I turned away from the window, unable to contain the sadness that invaded my entire being.

            "Life ain't fair. If it was, would we be Here?"

            "Guess not."

            Zack hugged me close. "I don't want to see you unhappy, Maxie. I hate seeing you so sad. It just kills me."

            I couldn't help but laugh on the inside. I knew the angle Zack was coming from and as much as I hated to admit it, he was right. Life was unfair. I was torturing myself. I looked back Down at Eva and tears pricked at my eyes. I swallowed hard and closed the window.

            "See you in fifteen years, Eva."


	2. The Leather Jacket

I'm living in the shadow of my mother and I hate it. Ever since I came into the world I have been. My mother died an hour after giving birth to me on a cold December night, two weeks before Christmas. I came out, she held me, my father held me, the nurse took me to clean me up…and she died. My father was deeply shaken. They'd tried twice to have a child – both times my mother had miscarried. And then at her chance at success, she doesn't live to see her creation grow. Daddy carried a huge burden upon him. A paraplegic since he was in his late twenties, he was usually depressed, but my mother's death had taken a toll on him. With my mother gone before she could even get to know me, it was Daddy's duty to name me. Maxine Guevara Cale was boldly printed on my birth certificate, after my mother, although she was just "Max", never Maxine. I was called Neena or Baby Boo by Aunt Cindy, who was my mother's best friend and Little Maxie by Bling, Daddy's best friend. Daddy preferred pet names for me, like "kitten" and "sweetie". He very rarely called me by a real name. Neither Aunt Cindy nor Bling liked leaving me alone with Daddy. It's not because he was violent, oh, no, he never even raised his voice. They simply pitied him and me both, for having such a tragedy befall us, although the tragedy occurred before I even knew where I was. I don't know if I attended my mother's funeral or not, but Aunt Cindy said I was, sleeping in her arms the whole time. Daddy became hysterical and had to be given a sedative. Aunt Cindy moved in with Daddy for about a month until he could get around okay and get into the habit of waking up over and over again in the middle of the night to take care of a colic infant. 

"At yo' momma's funeral was many a people, boo," Aunt Cindy said. "I 'member I dressed you in this li'l sweater she'd been workin' on fo' you. She learned how to knit jus' so she could have somethin' to give her baby."

Daddy had saved that sweater. I've seen him just sitting in his wheelchair, looking out at the rain with it in his lap along with the last picture ever taken of her.

It was almost like she never died, just away on business. Pictures of her hung almost everywhere. Her clothes were still in the drawers and closets. Her Ninja motorcycle is still in the garage. Her leather jacket is still strewn on the same chair it has been for fifteen years. I wear her wedding ring on a gold chain around my neck (Daddy gave it to me when I turned thirteen). It said _To Max, With Love inside, along with their wedding date._

It breaks Daddy's heart to live day-by-day with out my mother. I've seen him lighting candles beside her picture in a mournful vigil. I've smelled him spray feminine cologne on the bed sheets when I was little and had a nightmare (it was my mother's favorite scent and it was called Clinique Happy). I've spied him taking her clothes out of drawers and inhaling their scent.

"She always smelled so nice," Daddy said fondly. "Like vanilla and fresh grass—like you."

Every time I looked into the mirror I saw my mother. It was terrifying. I had her name, her face, her scent and her ring. To think that there was a chance I might suffer her same fate…it was something I didn't want to comprehend. My mother was so beautiful…it was impossible to believe she died when she was thirty-two. I sighed and turned off the bathroom light. Daddy, the culinary genius, was already in the kitchen, whipping up breakfast. Snow rather than rain fell this morning, a rare treat in Seattle. My birthday was next week—four days to be exact. It was a bittersweet occasion for all of us—Daddy, me, Bling and Aunt Cindy; along with many of my mother's friends.

"Good morning, kitten," he greeted, wheeling from the stove to kiss me, like every morning. "Could you hand me that spatula? Honestly, Bling always forgets I can't reach up there anymore. My arms aren't as long as they used to be. I'm getting old."

"Oh, Daddy!" I sighed. I reached on my tippy-toes to reach the spatula Daddy was aiming for. "You're not old."

"I feel old. My little girl's going to be sixteen!" 

"Have any special presents in mind?" I winked as I poured us each a glass of milk. My mother always drank milk. It was practically her life force. 

"A few," Daddy flipped the pancakes on the stove and watched them turn golden-brown, the color of honey. "How many?"

"Two, please."

"Are you staying after school today?"

"No, Daddy. I'm coming home, but Gina might come. I'm her math tutor."

"Oh? Since when?"

"Since she discovered I got an A and she got a D last marking period," I went to the refrigerator and grabbed the maple syrup, which was very hard to come by.

Daddy chuckled. "Your mom was great at math, too. A real whiz with numbers."

Again, being compared to Max Guevara Cale the First. I had her intelligence, now, too.

"You have your fair share of intelligence, too, Daddy. All my friends are real impressed on how good you are on that computer," I sat down and played with the necklace. I ran my fingertip delicately along the inscription, _To Max With Love._

"Am I destined to be a computer tutor?" Daddy put two pancakes on each plate, grabbed each one in each hand and placed them on the table. 

"Maybe," I admitted. I cut my pancakes and doused them in syrup. 

"Take it easy on the syrup, kitten," Daddy warned. I want there to be enough for your birthday breakfast."

"Is that one of my presents? Pancakes?" I teased. 

"Maybe. It is your Sweet Sixteen," Daddy sighed. He stabbed his pancakes as if he was trying to kill them. "Which reminds me. I need to pick up some more flowers. These are wilting."

"No, Daddy. I'll go on my way home from school. The roads are too icy. I don't want you to fall out of your chair again. It rained last night and with the snow, the sidewalks will be a deathtrap."

"Ah, my little girl looking after me," he tugged playfully at my curls. "I'll give you some money, then. Get something bright that will last for awhile. You always loved those, ah, white tulips, right?" Daddy turned his chair away from the table and wheeled towards his bedroom.

White tulips. He had me confused with my mother again. "No, my favorites are pink carnations."

Daddy stopped dead in his tracks. "Oh, that's right. I'm sorry. I have you mixed up with—"

"Your mother," I finished. I bit my lower lip. I stood up and began to clear the table. Daddy took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. It looked to me like he was crying. I put the dishes down and gave him a hug. I kissed his cheek and he patted my hair, kissing my forehead. 

"I just wish Max was here to see how beautiful you've become," he said, as if it was his fault she was dead. 

"She's here, Daddy. In spirit."

"But is it enough?"

I didn't answer. I looked at the clock. Bling would be here any minute. He was not only a close friend, he was Daddy's physical therapist. He came every day at eight and usually stayed till I came home at two-thirty. I cleaned the kitchen up and pulled on my boots and gloves. I began to hunt down my down jacket I'd saved up for to buy when Daddy came out of his bedroom and handed me some money. 

"Here," Daddy extended to me a twenty-dollar bill. "Keep it safe, don't show it to anyone. Too easy to be mugged these days."

"Okay," I said. I tucked it into my back pocket and asked if he'd seen my jacket.

"No," Daddy shook his head. "Um, here. Might as well have someone enjoy this before it goes to waste. It's a beautiful jacket. It will look good on you." He wheeled over to the old rocking chair and gave me my mother's favorite leather jacket. A gasp caught in my throat. I've never touched the jacket, let alone wear it. Daddy looked so eager for me to wear it that I put it on. What else could I do? I put my hands in the pockets and withdrew a smashed beeper and yellow-tinted sunglasses with black frames. I threw the beeper in the trash and handed the sunglasses to Daddy.

"No, keep them. They'll look good on you."

_Because they looked good on your mother. The first Max. The better Max, the one that fulfilled his fantasies and persuaded him to do things he was reluctant to do. I knew he was thinking along the lines of that. The doorbell rang and I went to answer it. Bling stared at me wide-eyed, "Max?"_

"No, it's me, Little Maxie," I took off the glasses.

"Oh. You scared me, girl. You look just like Max dressed like that. Does Logan know you wearin' that?" he asked quietly, taking off his jacket. I hung it up on the rack.

"Daddy told me to. I found the glasses in the pocket."

"You're the spitting image of your mother, Little Maxie. Which reminds me—Little Maxie won't be so little anymore, eh?"

The phone rang and I heard Daddy wheel across the room and answer it. 

"Four days," I said. "Sixteen. It sounds like a dream."

Bling laughed. He stroked my cheek. I knew he was thinking about my mother. "Just be nice to your daddy on that day, okay? It's tough for him. Max was his world."

"So I'm just her replacement?" I blurted. As soon as the words flew out of my mouth, I wished I could swallow them again. Bling gave me a worried stare. 

"Kitten?" Daddy called to me. "That was the school. Cancelled on account of snow."

"Okay, Daddy." I took off the leather jacket and put the glasses back in the pocket. 

"Now you look like Little Maxie again," Bling hugged me. I loved his hugs. He had the strongest arms next to Daddy.

While Bling and Daddy did physical therapy, I sat in my room. I stretched out on my bed and started up at my ceiling. My favorite picture of my mother was taped there, stolen from her frame when I was ten, so it was like she was looking down upon me from Heaven. I wondered if my life would be any different if my mother hadn't died having me. Or if I looked nothing like her and everything like Daddy. If I wasn't born with her dark hair and puppy-dog brown eyes, would I still be Maxine Guevara Cale? Or would I be someone else? Daddy once told me she wanted to name me Eva, after her sister who died when she was nine. It was my mother's dying wish, I guess, but Daddy gave me her namesake. If I had Daddy's aqua eyes and blond hair, would I have been Eva Cale? Daddy would call me by a name rather than "Kitten" or "Baby Doll". Sometimes I hated my mother for dying before I could form a memory of her. If she had to die, why not wait until I was at least ten? Did she think about how hard Mother's Day was for us? Or their anniversary? Her birthday? While I was hating my mother, Max Guevara Cale the First, I was admiring Daddy. He was a genius in the kitchen, great at computers, a good listener and was admired also by most of the parents of the kids in my class. My teacher in fourth grade asked Daddy to speak to our class about being a paraplegic. He politely refused and I was a little disappointed. When I asked Daddy why, he sighed and shook his head,

"Nobody needs to hear me complain about my condition, kitten," he said as we walked home together that day. "Especially a bunch of 10-year-olds."

I propped myself up on my elbows and stared hard into my mother's eyes. Those hateful eyes. My eyes. My mirror. My hands itched to tear the picture down. It was a familiar itch that surged through my fingertips every time I spoke ill of the dead. I wanted to smash her every picture, burn her every article of clothing, pawn her ring, take a crowbar to her motorcycle. But that would just injure Daddy more than my pride. Why was I so full of hatred for her? How many times have I asked myself that question over the past four years when I needed her most but had to ask Aunt Cindy for advice, which meant going to her apartment four blocks away by foot, which was a pain in the butt.

I slid of the bed and went into the bathroom. I washed my face with cold water and put a CD in my player. As the music flowed every where and I was re-reading _Little Women_, I heard a loud crash that scared me. My thoughts raced to Daddy, thinking he was hurt. I put a marker in my book and got up. When I opened my door a crack, I heard Daddy sobbing and Bling assuring him that I would be all right.

"We can glue it, Logan," he said. 

"That was Max's favorite vase."

I stayed put. My feet wanted to go to him and console him, but I stayed nailed to the floor, my eyes glued to the scene that was unfolding before me. Bling was on his hands and knees picking up pieces of a stained glass vase that had sat in our foyer for so many years. Daddy was sweeping up the microscopic pieces with a broom. His glasses were off and sweat marked his gray tank top he wore when he did his exercises.

"I think I can fix it," Bling held the bigger pieces in his palms. "You got any Crazy Glue?"

"I was going to give it to Maxine to put in her room for her birthday."

Maxine! He'd called me by a name! Oh, joy! Oh, rapture!

"I said, do you have any Crazy Glue?" Bling repeated.

"It won't be the same, Bling. Just leave it alone. Throw it out."

Bling hesitated. "You sure? You loved this thing more'n Max did."

"I said, _throw _it _away_!" Daddy shouted. "Don't give it a second thought." He wheeled his chair into his office. Bling went into the kitchen and pulled out a plastic bag. He put the pieces into it and put the bag in a high cabinet that I could reach and Daddy couldn't. Bling couldn't let go of my mother any easier than I or Daddy could.

"Did you throw that thing out?" Daddy called bitterly.

"Yeah," Bling lied. He sighed and returned to Daddy, who had retreated to his cyber world. "It's amazing how a person like Max could be so strong and so delicate at the same time."

"Meaning what?" Daddy asked, not looking away from the screen. I knew he was watching the DVD of their wedding without the sound.

"Well, what she was and how she acted most of the time was brutal, lethal, tough but once you got her in a room full of warmth and care she melted and became a beautiful person on the inside as well as the outside."

What she was? What was she, if not a person? They were talking very, very softly but I could still hear them perfectly.

"Are you saying Max didn't have any inner beauty?" Daddy sounded hostile.

"Of course she did, Logan. It was just…well, she was rough, tough biker chick who could break a guy's neck without remorse and then come here and be all love-y."

"This isn't helping, Bling. With Maxine's birthday and Max's death day all rolled into twenty-four hours, nothing's going to shake me."

"It should be a happy occasion."

"It hasn't been for fifteen years and it's damn well not going to be any different the sixteenth time around."

"Have you ever thought about her traits?"

"Whose?"

"Maxine's. Do you think Max's genetic make-up…?"

"Well, it's entirely possible, but she hasn't demonstrated any thing particular."

"Her straight-A pluses for ten years?"

"That's not unusual. She's just smart."

"No normal kid can do that."

Normal. Why wasn't I normal? I had always thought of myself as normal. What was Bling talking about? What was wrong with her genetic make-up?

"Maxine is normal. I don't think she has any Mandicore traits. If she did I would have noticed them, don't you think? Besides, she's more Cale than she is Guevara."

That wasn't true.

"Logan, I think you should tell her about Max."

"No!" Daddy pounded a fist on his desk. "Not yet."

"How long are you gonna wait, Logan? The girl's sixteen. When are you going to tell her, on your deathbed? Shame, Logan. It's a damn shame depriving a child of her history."

"I was going to wait until her eighteenth."

"Why? Because Max was around that age when she met you?"

"Max was nineteen."

"I can see you're being impossible now. I'm just gonna leave you alone for an hour, okay?"

I closed my door and looked out my window. The snow was still falling but it wasn't sticking too good. As quietly as I could, I put on my boots, gloves and my baby blue sweatshirt over my T-shirt. I slipped out of the apartment and made my way to Aunt Cindy's. 


	3. Bedtime Story

I hated these streets on which I walked. Dobermans growled and barked, homeless persons begged for a meal or spare change, gunshots rang out and people yelled and screamed. It was hell, but to see Aunt Cindy I'd walk on hot coals. She was practically was my sanctuary. Aunt Cindy was one unique character. She called herself and was called by her friends Original Cindy. My mother knew before she was even pregnant with me that Aunt Cindy would be my godmother. Aunt Cindy was the one person I could trust to talk to me straight—no false faces with her. Nothing was a fib or a white lie or even half-truths. She was the only one who could talk about my mother and not break down in hysterical tears. 

Aunt Cindy's apartment was not as nice as the one Daddy and I lived in, but it always smelled nice with the scent of cinnamon candles and Aunt Cindy kept it as clean as she could. I was always welcomed there.

"Hey, Boo," she greeted me with a kiss on the cheek when she saw me standing in the hallway of the building. She stole a quick glance at the clock on her wall. "Hold up. It's ten after nine, shouldn't ya be in school? 'Cuz Original Cindy ain't housin' no hooky-playas."

"School was cancelled today, Aunt Cindy," I said, stepping inside. I could hear soft R&B music wafting throughout the apartment like the pleasant aroma of baking bread. Aunt Cindy plucked snowflakes from my dark hair as I took of my gloves. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"That's for me to know and you to ignore, Boo," Aunt Cindy joked. "I'll get you some cocoa. Look's like you need somethin' hot inside you."

Aunt Cindy went into the kitchen and I took off my sweatshirt. Even in my heavy blue jeans and long-sleeved burgundy T-shirt I shivered. I unfolded a woven blanket that was on the couch and wrapped it around me, like a shawl to get the chill out of my body. The snow had let up since I got inside. It wasn't falling in big fat flakes anymore. Now it looked more like powdered sugar. 

"You like yours with milk, right, Boo?" Aunt Cindy called from the kitchen.

"Yes."

She emerged from the kitchen, her creamy brown skin was identical to that of the hot chocolate in the mug. She handed one to me and kept one for herself. The heat from the liquid surged through my fingers, dissolving the itch I'd had earlier to destroy my mother's possessions. Aunt Cindy kept her black eyes on me as she peered over the mug. "I'm getting' chills, Boo…I'm sittin' here thinkin' I was havin' a drink with yo' momma. We used to do this on cold days together when we didn't have work."

"What did my mother do?" I asked between sips.

"We worked for a parcel service called Jam Pony for this monster named Normal…funny, ain't it? Not a day went by I didn't think of layin' the smackdown on his ass. 'Course she was also a—" Aunt Cindy stopped herself and changed the subject. "Why you askin', Boo?"

"Oh…nothing. No reason…just curiosity…she was also a what, Aunt Cindy?"

"Boo, does your daddy know you here?"

I took a long sip of the hot chocolate to avoid the question. Aunt Cindy smirked. 

"Thought so…what's wrong, Boo? Someone hurt you? Can't be yo' daddy. No, Logan wouldn't hit Max's baby."

"He hurt me in a different way, Aunt Cindy."

"Say what?"

I put my mug down and let the blanket fall from my shoulders. "I heard Bling and Daddy talking about my mother…something about a place called Mandicore and about her genes. Do you have any idea what that could be?"

Aunt Cindy's eyes went from sympathetic to terrified. "I think you better be gettin' on home, Boo." She stood up and took my mug off of the coffee table and went back into the kitchen. She came out a few seconds later and handed me my gloves from the side table of the couch.

"Aunt Cindy…"

"Git on home. Yo' daddy be worried sick when he figures out his baby is gone." She rushed me out the door, tossing me my sweatshirt on the way out. She shut the door to keep me out just as quickly as she had opened it to let me in. I put my ear to the door to figure out what had scared her so to throw me out. I heard Aunt Cindy walk across the room…pick up the phone…and dial a number. I left just after I heard her say, "Logan, it's Original Cindy."

I couldn't get home quick enough. Despite the weather, I ran. Halfway there I slid headfirst on the ice and bumped my nose hard, causing both my nose and lip to cut and bleed. The ribbon in my hair flew off and just as I approached the building Daddy and I lived in, I slipped and fell on my butt, the ice seeping through my jeans. I must've looked a sight as I took the elevator to the penthouse. Daddy was waiting for me by the table in the foyer where the stained glass vase once stood. Bling was nowhere to be seen. The portable phone was in Daddy's lap. I swallowed hard.

"Daddy, I…"

He handed me a tissue with a look of disgust, "Your lip and nose are bleeding. Clean yourself up, Maxine, then we'll talk." He turned his back to me.

"I'm sorry, Daddy…I feel wretched."

Daddy waved me off, his back still to me. He was mad. I'd never seen him this mad before. I'd never seen him this mad, ever. I stood there, still, watching him wheel back and forth slowly, like his own personal rocking chair. I remember he used to do that when I was little, like 3 or 4 years old, and could still fit in his lap. He would hum a little tune—nothing recognizable, maybe Chopin or Mozart (Daddy was a classical music fan)—to lull me to sleep and when I woke up, I would be in my bed. Sighing, I lowered my chin to my chest and shuffled to my room. I closed the door and went to my bathroom. I was surprised my mirror didn't break from the shock of seeing my reflection—I looked ugly enough to scare a wolf. My hair was mussed and the dried blood on my chin and streaked across my cheek from where I wiped my bleeding nose with my sleeve, which also had a dark red stain across it. Sighing, I took a washcloth and wet it with warm water. I wiped away the blood from my face and used it to try and remove the blood from my sleeve. When it didn't work, I simply threw it on the floor and stomped on it at a childish attempt to try and make things better. Listlessly, I flopped spread-eagle onto my bed, put my head under my pillow and screamed. I don't know why—maybe the frustration of being the only kid I knew who didn't have a mother or maybe I just felt like screaming. I made believe I was screaming at my mother.

_"I HATE YOU!!! I HATE YOU!!! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO GO AND DIE ON ME LIKE THAT??? WHY DID YOU DIE ON DADDY??? YOU'RE SELFISH FOR LEAVING US, MOMMY, YOU BITCH!!! YOU MURDERED ME AND LEFT ME HERE TO TAKE THE BLAME!!! I HATE YOU!!!"_

My screams turned into sobs, my sobs into tears. My voice was gone. I stumbled out of bed and found Daddy lighting candles by my mother's picture. He looked up and saw my cheeks streaked with wetness. "Come here, kitten."

I ran over to him and we hugged each other tight. He patted my curls and kissed my cheek over and over again like a parental bandage for mental boo-boo's. Daddy used to ask, pulling me into his lap, "Where does it hurt, kitten?" And kiss me where it hurt to make the pain go away.

Daddy led me to the couch and he sat across from me, hunched over in his wheelchair so he wouldn't have to talk so loud, his hands folded in his lap. I curled in my legs and hugged them against my abdomen, resting my chin on my knees. Daddy cleared his throat.

"Original Cindy called me and said you came to her with questions about Max—I mean, your mother."

I admitted I did.

"Why didn't you come to me first, Maxine?"

I loved hearing him call me Maxine. It was like a breath of fresh air. "I didn't want to upset you."

"I understand that now that you're becoming more of an adult you're going to be missing her more and more," Daddy said, cupping her wedding ring in his palm that hung around my neck on a solid gold chain. _To Max With Love_ glinted in the candlelight. "You were eavesdropping on Bling and I about the vase, correct?"

I nodded, "What was Mandicore?"

Daddy nodded towards the table where the vase was. "Max really loved that vase, you know. She found it at a flea market before we were married. It was covered with dust and it cost her a dollar. She cleaned it and shined it up and then gilded it. She gave it to me and said, 'Here, Logan. It will give this place some more class.' Ever since then it's never been moved from that spot…until now."

"Daddy?"

"Maxine, I'm not sure how you'll take this whole thing. It shocked me myself when your mother first told me."

"How old were you?"

"We were both in our early twenties."

"I think I can take it. I want to know everything—no half truths."

Daddy drummed his fingers on his knee. "Everything may not be as pretty as you think."

"I don't care…tell me. Start at the very beginning. Where was she born?"

"You're really into this, aren't you?" Daddy took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt. "Well, if you're going to keep bugging me about it…

"Your mother was born and raised in a corporation called Mandicore. They created humans none like any other—super humans with feline DNA. It enhanced their speed, sight and hearing. They were stronger than others, they were more intelligent. Nevertheless, Mandicore was a living hell to anyone who was unfortunate enough to live there. There, they were trained as soldiers, to use their hands as lethal weapons. They weren't known by names but by numbers. Your mother was known as X5-452. They each had a barcode tattooed on their neck to identify them. When they got out, they named each other. Your mother was called Max. One night during the wintertime, your mother organized an escape from Mandicore. They were nine years old at the time."

"Only nine?"

"Like I said, they were stronger and more intelligent. Only about ten of them out of about thirteen or fifteen made it out safely. Guards chased them with guns and tazers."

"How did Mom make it out?"

"She jumped through some thin ice on a lake and hid underneath."

"Why didn't she freeze to death?"

"They were trained to withstand such temperatures and to hold their breath for hours. She waited until all the guards were gone and snuck out that way."

"And she came to Seattle and married you, right?"

Daddy wrapped one of my corkscrew curls around his finger and tugged it gently. "There's a lot more in-between, kitten."

"How did you meet?"

"Well, as she got older and out on her own, she started working for Jam Pony. Original Cindy told me she mentioned that to you. Max also worked as a cat burglar, or at least I think that's what she was. I caught her inside the penthouse trying to steal a statue."

My eyes went wide. "That was before you were in the wheelchair, right?"

Daddy looked at his lap. "Yeah, about a week."

I knew that Daddy had also been out of the wheelchair twice and ended up back in it again within a month. His leg muscles simply weren't strong enough.

"What did you do at the time?"

"Same as I do now. Cyber journalism. Of course, back then I had a television announcement called Eyes Only that came on periodically to alert people about the government."

"How come you don't do it anymore?"

"Your mom usually did the 'street work' for me, so I could stay here and go in depth of the story I was working on."

"What happened to the other kids Mom escaped with?"

"I was just getting to that. Do you, by any chance, remember your sixth birthday party?"

"Yes, I do."

"Do you remember who was there?"

"Ro was there, and Gina and Mavoureen—why?"

"No, not kids, the adults. Were there any other adults you remember besides myself and Original Cindy?"

"Y-yes…vaguely…two women."

"They were your mother's sisters, Jace and Tinga, from Mandicore."

"Sisters? Like…Eva? Was Eva in Mandicore?"

Daddy was taken aback. "You remember Eva? Wait, no that's impossible. She died when she was nine."

"You told me once that Mom was going to name me Eva after her little sister who died."

"Yes, Eva was in Mandicore."

"And that man that's in the picture with her…was he in Mandicore?"

"What man? Which picture?"

I went into Daddy's bedroom and returned with a picture of Mom with a tall, muscular blond man with his arm around her. They were sitting on sand, indicating they were at a beach. "Who's this?" I handed the picture to Daddy and sat back on the couch.

"Zack. X5-764. Your mother's brother. If you were born a boy she wanted to name you after him."

"Is he still around?"

"No," Daddy put the picture on the coffee table. "He committed suicide three years before your mother and I were married."

"Committed suicide?"

Daddy nodded sadly, "Your mother was in need of a new heart. She was shot breaking into Mandicore with him. But as an X5, she needed the heart of an X5. Zack kept yelling at the doctors to do something to save her but when he was told they had no donor, he took his gun and said, 'Here's your donor' and shot himself. They implanted his heart into her body."

My heart sank. "Would he have been a person I would've liked?"

"I think you and Zack would have gotten along great. He loved your mother as much as I did. They were very close."

I put the picture back in its frame and sighed. Upon my return to the living room, I asked Daddy why I'd never seen Jace and Tinga after my sixth birthday. 

"I didn't want them here. I didn't want to bring up the past or expose you to Mandicore. I told them politely that they weren't wanted here anymore now that Max was gone."

Gone. That brought another question to my mind, "How exactly did she die? My mother, I mean. There has to be a reason. Did she loose too much blood? Did her heart stop? Did she…" I couldn't continue.

"There were some problems during her labor. The doctor told her she had to make a choice: her life or yours. She chose yours, saying having you live would be worth passing on."

"What were her last words?"

Daddy bit his lip, reluctant. I knew his tongue wanted to blurt out that I'd asked enough questions but he opened his mouth to reply, "She turned to me and said, 'Logan, how can you love someone so much that you just met?'"


	4. The Itch Is Scratched

Daddy's story about my mother's life was thorough enough, but it left me with many more questions. I knew Daddy wouldn't answer them. He had said he wanted to let it be. I couldn't sleep that night. I tossed and turned but my eyes wouldn't stay shut. I nodded off periodically and had nightmares about my mother and her escape. In one, we were running through a snow-covered forest hand-in-hand, wearing nothing but long T-shirts. All of a sudden, my mother slipped and fell through some ice.

_"MOMMY!"_ I cried out. I held out my hand for her to grab but she couldn't reach. She drowned and I cried for her, my tears freezing into icicles. Someone with a face I couldn't see because he was wearing a ski mask grabbed me and put handcuffs on my wrists.

_"I FOUND X5-452!"_ he called to the others. Others? I tried to turn around but whoever had me held me tight so I kept looking forward. I was crowded by people I knew from school, poking and prodding me.

_"I'M NOT X5-452! LET ME GO!"_ I screeched. I squirmed and was finally released. I broke the handcuffs off and whipped the mask off my captor. It was Zack.

I woke up with a scream vibrating in my throat. I really couldn't sleep after that. I got up and pulled on some ankle socks. The clock on my dresser read 2:34 AM. Daddy would be asleep no doubt, but to be sure I tiptoed into his room. He was lying on his side, glasses off, snoring softly. I crossed the room to make sure he had set the breaks on his wheelchair—after a long night he sometimes forgot. The double frame that held two pictures of my mother sat on his nightstand. One had her posed with her Ninja motorcycle in that leather jacket and yellow-tinted sunglasses with black frames. The other picture was the one of her sitting on the beach with Zack, his arm around her. I remembered my nightmare and shivered. As I was exiting the room, I saw the pictures of me at ages one, two and three he had on his dresser. Since my hopes of a good night's rest was pretty much demolished, I wandered throughout the penthouse, counting pictures of me versus pictures of my mother. To my disappointment, there were 26 of me and 32 of my mother. I was mildly insulted. I shuffled back into Daddy's room. I was sure he was out for the count. On my way out, I stubbed my toe on a side table in the living room and cried out. I clamped my hands over my mouth and glanced at Daddy's room. Daddy didn't stir.

"Shhh," I whispered to myself. A small spot of blood began to spread on the tip of my sock where my big toe was. That damned marble table! Walking gingerly, I snuck into Daddy's office, where his elaborate collection of computers were set up, including the headset Daddy used to talk to his colleagues without taking a hand off the computer keyboard and a small television. I pulled up a chair and turned on the main computer.

**_PASSWORD?_** asked the popup.

Oh, great. I hadn't planned on a password. I tried about a hundred words only Daddy would know: _Eyes Only, Guevara, Mandicore_…every one gave me an **_ACCESS DENIED_** popup. 

I blew my bangs out of my face and thought, It must be numerical. I typed in Daddy's birth date, month and year.

**_ACCESS DENIED._**

I typed in mine.

**_ACCESS DENIED._**

I typed in my mother's.

**_ACCESS DENIED._**

**__**I tried Aunt Cindy's and Bling's before I finally figured it out. I uncertainly typed in my mother's Mandicore ID: _X5-452._

**_WELCOME BACK, Logan Cale_**, greeted the more friendlier popup. 

The desktop was filled with at least fifty folders of files and programs—so many, I got dizzy. At a closer look, I saw they weren't even labeled in English, but in what looked like Russian! Daddy really went through a lot of trouble to make sure no one would find what I was looking for. 

_Don't worry. It's all in a matter of finding the right one_, I thought. I randomly clicked on a folder in the center of the desktop labeled Глаза Только.It turned out to be simply old episodes of Eyes Only. I was tempted to watch some, but decided against it. I didn't want Daddy to discover I had broken into his computer. Another one that was labeled Девочка Ребенка tuned out to be pictures of me, mainly baby pictures. Finally, I found the folder I was looking for: pictures from Mandicore. It was labeled Злые Картины. Before Daddy had gone to bed I asked if there were any pictures of my mother in Mandicore. He said there was, but he had destroyed them.

The pictures were stomach-churning. They weren't pretty. At first glance, one couldn't tell if they were male or female—all of them had their heads shaved. The first one was my mother. Her Mandicore picture had "X5-452" and her barcode number typed underneath it. The picture was placed above her picture of what she had looked like as an adult, with "a.k.a. Max" typed underneath that one. In her Mandicore picture, her skin was pale but she still had full lips. Cuts and scrapes marked her face and forehead. I found pictures of the people Daddy had mentioned: Tinga, Jace, Zack, Eva and one named Brin. On Eva and Zack's Mandicore pictures, though, were red lines streaked across it, with DECEASED written in white letters. There was no picture of Eva as an adult, of course.

Just like my mother had, Tinga, Jace and Brin grew up to be beautiful and Zack was very handsome and strong-looking. I wept bitterly and silently when I read about Zack's suicide to save my mother's life. Daddy's story had mentioned it, but to see it written on paper made it seem so final. 

I looked around the room, surrounded by the face of a person who was long dead. It infuriated me. I dug my fingernails into my palm until I felt the skin breaking and bleeding. I turned off the computer and went into my room. I knew what I had to do: for Daddy's sake as well as my own. I dug around in my closet until I found a hammer I had hid in there last time I'd thought about destroying everything. The itch had returned to surge through my fingers and body until I couldn't stand it. Still in my robe, nightgown and slippers, I went down to our garage and saw my mother's black Ninja motorcycle leaning there, waiting for her to return.I held the hammer like a bat and I smashed the windshield in one whack. It felt good. So good, I smashed the taillights and the hubcaps (all though since I wasn't that strong, I barely dented them), but it wasn't enough. Still holding onto the hammer, I went over to my father's vigil where he lit candles to commemorate my mother. The candles had long since gone out but I laid the framed photo back and let the hammer come down hard onto the glass. It shattered without much noise, but I carefully closed Daddy's door before I continued, just in case. The next frame I went for was completely glass. It had a small rhinestone emerald implanted into a glass heart at the lower right-hand corner. One whack demolished the entire thing.The picture had my mother posed under a tree, pink with cherry blossoms. It was taken at Daddy's cabin upstate. One by one, I cracked the glass of each picture holding my mother's face, even a wedding portrait of her and Daddy. I had no remorse and felt quite a bit mad—I was _enjoying_ this! It was as if I had been dammed up all this time and was finally letting loose. I missed only once and hit the wall instead, making a small dent. Soon all thirty-two picture frames through which my mother peered at me were either cracked or destroyed. Still holding the hammer in my trembling hands, I surveyed my destruction. I dropped my weapon to the floor, narrowly missing my feet. I scurried to my bathroom and heaved up everything I ate two days ago. After taking a shower, I got dressed and packed a small duffel bag. After doing what I did, I couldn't face Daddy. I slung the bag over my shoulder and made my way out. While I was waiting for the elevator, I grabbed onto the 14K gold chain that held my mother's wedding ring and yanked as hard as I could. The chain snapped and I laid the broken necklace on the table in the foyer. _To Max With Love_ still shined in the dimness.

Once I got outside, I looked around. The air was chilly. Homeless persons huddled around flaming trash cans. Where was I to go now? Bling lived too far. Aunt Cindy would tattle on me to Daddy. The only person who came to mind was Gina Robinson, my best friend. Her parents, Drs. Charles and Lillie Robinson, were at a convention in Portland for a week, leaving Gina home alone. I looked at my watch. It was 4:18 AM. Sighing, I rubbed my hands together for warmth. The temperature must've dropped twenty degrees since my visit to Aunt Cindy's. I was wearing a heavy pink sweater over a white button-down shirt with a 70's collar and sleeves that ended at the folds of my elbows. My jeans were a size too big and heavy. I wore on my feet heavy socks and ankle boots with rubber soles so I could easily make the trek by foot to Gina's. My gloves were thick, but my fingers were still being nipped at by the cold. I took a long look at the building. I knew I would return, but not for awhile. I needed a mental health day…or week…or maybe a month.

Gina lived in a penthouse two streets over from where Daddy and I lived. As an only child she was a self-proclaimed "overly-spoiled little brat" and was a brain, although she wasn't quick with numbers as I was. We had been inseparable since third grade.

The walk took me a good hour and a half. I slipped twice: once on my butt and once flat on my back. It was still dark when I approached Gina's building. I took the elevator to the floor her place was on and knocked on the door. I heard the faint click of her Jack Russell's nails walking across the room and then barking.

"Shh, Norman," I heard Gina groan from inside. "Who's there?" she called out. I inhaled sharply, afraid to say anything. Gina opened the door and loomed over me, wielding a steel bat. I screamed and covered my head. Gina screamed back. Then, she realized who it was.

"Maxine?"


	5. Hideout

Gina lowered the baseball bat. "What the hell—"

"Christ, Gina!" I gasped. My heart fluttered like a caged butterfly. "You scared me half to death."

Gina pinched my arm.

"Ouch!" I cried and slapped her hand away.

"You feel real," she said. Then she pinched her own arm and winced. "Okay, so this isn't a dream." Gina held the bat like a cane and leaned on it. "So, what brings you to my doorstep at—" She paused to look at her watch. "Four-twenty? Screw this, good night!"

Gina closed the door but I put my foot in the way. "Gina, please, help."

"I can't believe I'm going to loose three hours worth of sleep…" Gina stepped back and let me enter. "I know I'm your best friend, Maxine, and you're mine but this is going too far."

"Do you have any stomach settlers?"

"Umm," Gina scuffled to the kitchen, Norman the Jack Russell following her. "My mom has some Tums here…"

"Good…I'll take anything," I said, sitting on the couch.

She tossed the bottle to me and I downed four of the little chewable pills before Gina plopped down next to me.

"An adult dosage is two, Maxine," she said, touching my arm.

"My stomach hurts enough for two people," I grumbled. "I screwed up so bad, Gina."

She reached into her robe pocket and pulled out a cherry Dumdum pop—her passion. She sucked on it for a few seconds and said, "Are you pregnant?"

"What? Hell, no! I wouldn't be here, I'd be out-of-state."

"I doubt the rest of the country is in any better shape than Seattle, even though it's been almost thirty years since the Pulse…so you're not pregnant?"

I shook my head. "Daddy would freak, especially since my mother died having me. He'd send me to a sanitarium."

"So what's up?" she flipped her streaked blond hair away from her face and adjusted her glasses. "What brings you to my humble abode four hours before I'm suppost to be conscious?" 

"Can you keep a secret?"

"I'm biting…"

"Do you know anything about Manticore?"

Gina's mouth fell open, the lollipop falling to the floor. Norman picked it up and ran off. She didn't even try to stop him. "Manticore? Of course I know Manticore! How do you know about it, Maxine? That place is creepy!"

"You've been inside? Gina, tell me!" I grabbed onto her shoulders and shook her gently.

"Ouch, stop it!" 

"Gina, please tell me!" I let go. 

"Why are you so in need of info about Manticore?"

"Because my mother was Manticore property!" I blurted. "She had the barcode, the military skills, the whole nine yards!"

"Manticore? Property? No way!"

"Yeah, way. My daddy's been hiding this from me until last night. I kinda went berserk and smashed all the pictures of my mother."

"Wait a minute…if your mother was in Manticore…people who are born in Manticore never come out…are you trying to tell me that your mom was one of the escapees of 2009?"

"I guess so."

"You guess so? Deck's been tracking those sons-a-bitches down ever since!"

"Deck?"

"Hello, sweetheart, are you in there?" Gina knocked on my head lightly. "Donald Lyedecker? The messiah of Manticore?"

I shrugged and shook my head, "Daddy didn't mention him. How do you know about Manticore?"

"My parents used to work for Deck before he shut it down."

"Shut it down? Why?"

"None of them were coming out right. They all had some sort of defects. X5's for instance, had terrible seizures."

"My mother was an X5."

"Whoo-ee, this is so cool! My best friend is half X5! So that would make you X2.5, right?"

"No I'm not X anything. Wouldn't I have a barcode and super sight and stuff?"

"I don't think barcodes are passed down, Maxine. Just traits. The barcodes are tattooed on."

"So, when did, ah, Deck was it?, shut Manticore down?"

"About three years ago, after X15's had spontaneous human combustion."

"Do you think it would be possible for me to find him?"

"After what I've just heard, anything's possible."

"So…"

"So?"

"Can I crash here or what?"

"Or what," Gina mimicked. "C'mon. You can borrow Jedidiah's room or you can sleep on my floor. I'd go for Jedidiah's room if I were you—my room is such a mess I can't remember what color carpet I have."

Jedidiah was Gina's 20-year-old brother who was at the convention in Portland with the Drs. Robinson. He had aspects of becoming a neurosurgeon. Dr. Lillie Robinson was a cardiologist and Dr. Charles Robinson was a radiologist.

"So, were you born 'cause your mom was in heat?" Gina asked all of a sudden.

"Excuse me?"

"Your dad didn't tell you Manticore clones were twenty percent feline?"

"He did, but 'in heat'?"

"Yeah. All cats—mainly female—get hot sometimes. And when cats get hot, they get all-ass horny."

"Aw, jeez—over share! Didn't need to hear that!"

"I'm just saying maybe you were just a fluke."

"Well, I happen to know for a fact that my parents wanted kids and my mom was pregnant twice before me but she miscarried. Then I was born and she died. I don't think she was in heat, Gina."

"It must really suck not knowing your mom, huh?"

"It sucks not knowing my dad either," I grumbled. "I'm not going to school tomorrow, Gina."

"Why not?"

"I need some time off. Just to think."

I woke up around noon the next morning. At first I forgot where I was but as my head cleared and saw the marks on my palms where I'd dug my fingernails in, the whole terrible night came flooding back like a nightmare once forgotten. I'd fallen asleep in my shirt and jeans the night before, too emotionally drained and sore from all the slips on the ice I'd made yesterday to get into my pajamas. I walked into the Robinsons' kitchen and found Gina sitting there, scaring the crap out of me once again. 

"You have to stop doing that!" I hollered.

"Doing what?" Gina yawned. "I stayed home from school so you wouldn't go nuts and smash all the pictures of my mom."

"Not funny, Gina."

"Coffee, Maxine?"

"Yeah, that'll work."

I poured myself a cup of black coffee and sipped it. It woke me up quickly and helped me focus a bit better. My hair felt damp and oily. 

"Your dad called this morning," Gina announced.

The mug slipped out of my hand in surprise. "He what?"

"Great, now look what you did," Gina looked down at the shattered mug. "That was Mom's favorite."

"I'll clean it up," I promised. "I'll pay for the mug. When did Daddy call and what did he say?"

"He called around eight this morning. He said, 'Gina, have you seen Maxine?' and I said, 'No, Mr. Cale, who do you ask?' and he says, 'She wasn't in her room when I went to go wake her up and I've already tried her godmother and she hasn't seen her.' So I go, 'I'm sorry, Mr. Cale. If I see her I'll tell her to call you' and he said, 'Thank you, Gina' and hung up."

"That's it?"

"What did you want me to say, Maxine? 'Oh, yeah, she's sleeping in my brother's room because she destroyed her mom's pictures and is ashamed to come home."

"It wasn't just the pictures."

"Oh? You dug up her grave, too? Knocked down her tombstone and jumped up and down on it? Trampled the tulips your godmother plants there? What? What?"

"You remember that motorcycle I showed you? I told you it was my dad's before he ended up in the wheelchair when he was thirty?"

"The Ninja?"

"Yeah…well, it wasn't my dad's…it was my mother's. I smashed it, too."

"Really? With what?"

"A hammer."

"You go!"

"Stop it, it's not cool. That was my dad's shrine or something."

"I never knew you had the guts to do something like that. I never knew you had the guts to do anything, actually."

"Gina, I'm in such deep crap. I know Daddy never yells, but once he figures out that I was the one who ruined the pictures I'm afraid that all that anger he's had bottled up inside for all these years about my mother's death is just gonna explode and take it out on me."

"I don't think he'd do that, Maxine. You know, if he didn't love you as much as he did, he'd have a real job."

"What's that suppost to mean?" I asked angrily. 

"Okay, that came out wrong didn't it? What I mean is, your dad works from the house, right?"

"Right."

"Well, my parents are gone a lot. They neglect me. Look around you, Maxine! If this were your house, your dad would be over at the stove there making breakfast, Mozart would be pouring out the stereo and we'd be dressed. But no. My parents favor Jedidiah and so neglect me by: staying at work late, going places without me, and leaving a house totally empty of food!" Gina stood up and opened the refrigerator to emphasize her point. I peered inside and saw a carton of milk, four eggs, a loaf of bread, a jar of pickles and a package of 6 hotdogs. It was a meager supply, but I didn't think the Drs. Robinson would purposely neglect Gina. "Maxine, your dad is always home. He's there when you wake up and he's there when you come home from school. You don't know what you have."

She was right. I didn't. 

Around four P.M. I was struck with a sinus headache. I told Gina, who was watching television and reading a magazine at the same time, that if anyone called I wasn't here and I was going to lay down. 

"No one's called all day, Maxine," she said. "Don't worry."

My head hit the pillow and I fell into a deep sleep. I dreamt about my mother again. She was sitting under the cherry tree and I was up in a branch.

"What's heaven like?" I asked.

My mother stayed silent, but smiled wide and climbed up to sit by me on the branch. We sat in silence for a few seconds.

"Mom? What's heaven like? Are angels singing and are clouds made from marshmallows?"

I heard a cracking sound. The branch was giving out! The limb tore from the tree and we were falling…falling…falling…

I woke up quickly. It was dark outside now. My watch said eight PM. I yawned and stretched and went to go find Gina. I found her standing in front of the open refrigerator. 

"For some reason, I don't feel like having hot dogs for dinner," she said when she saw me.

"Me, neither."

"You know, my mom left me a hundred bucks in case I needed any extra cash. Want to go out to eat?"

I didn't really, but I nodded anyway.

"Great. Let's go get fabulized. You can borrow my clothes."

I pulled on a pair of bell-bottomed jeans and a red baby T-shirt with an ornate white butterfly on it while Gina put on her black denim jeans and a maroon V-necked T-shirt. She asked me to French braid her hair and I did.

"Where are we going?" I asked as I slipped my feet into a pair of Gina's white high-tops. 

"Heck if I know," Gina tied up her black tennis shoes. "I just want to get out of here."

We put on our sweatshirts and stepped out. The air was cold and we decided to walk up and down the street for a few minutes. After about half an hour we decided to eat at a pizza place where most of the kids from school went. After chowing down a whole medium pie, we both felt a little sick. 

"I haven't eaten in two days," Gina sighed. "That felt good."

"Yeah, I haven't eaten since I heard Daddy talking about my mom."

"You were really hung up on that weren't you?"

"I was," I admitted. "But not anymore."

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"I knew it," Gina took a napkin and dipped it in her glass of water. Then she took off her glasses and wiped them with the napkin and dried them on her shirt. "You wanna start heading back now?"

"Sure."

We took the long way home, talking the entire way. 

"I wonder if my mother had parents?" I said out loud.

"Maybe, in a distant galaxy," Gina said. "She had to have a mother."

"Would it be possible to find her?"

"Nope. Stuff like that was never released. But you know what?"

"No, what?"

"Lyedecker's still alive."

When we got to Gina's building, my heart skipped a beat when I saw the cars in the parking lot: Daddy's Aztec, the Drs. Robinsons' Toyota and Jedidiah Robinson's Jeep.

"Uh-oh," Gina read my mind.

We ran up the stairs and breathlessly stumbled into the penthouse. 

"Gina!" Lillie and Charles Robinson exclaimed the same time Daddy went, "Maxine!" The three of them hurried over to hug us close.

One of the two cops crossed his arms and said, "Are these the missing children, ma'am?"

"Yes officer," Lillie Robinson said. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

After the cops left, the Robinsons' gave Gina a lecture about lying to Daddy and leaving without a note and explained the rest of the convention was cancelled on account of snow. Daddy just held me and whispered in my ear,

"I'm sorry, Maxine…I'm so sorry."


	6. Doctor Barnaby

I sat in a green leather chair with Daddy in his wheelchair next to me in a room full of disturbed persons

I sat in a green leather chair with Daddy in his wheelchair next to me in a room full of disturbed persons. The gold plate on the door read DR. ZANDRA BARNABY, PSYCHIATRIST. 

It was Lillie Robinson's idea. I overheard her talking to Daddy while I was recollecting my thoughts in Gina's bedroom.

"Logan, the girl is obviously disturbed," she'd declared. "I know you're a very devoted father and dote on Maxine as much as possible, but she won't get better if you keep sheltering her. I know that if you love her as much as I know you do, you'll do the right thing and I suggest you find her some help."

"Help? _Help?_" Daddy sounded angry. "What kind of _help_ do you propose, Lillie?"

So, Lillie gave Daddy the address and phone number of Zandra Barnaby. A psychiatrist. My best friend's mother thought I needed a shrink. Daddy's face froze when Lillie handed him the slip of paper.

"A psychiatrist, Lillie?" Daddy said.

"Now, Logan, a lot of teens are seeing psychiatrists nowadays and even more so than when we were kids. Charles and I met her at the convention in Portland. Zandra's a kind, warm person and wouldn't hurt Maxine. You can trust her."

I hated the word "trust". 

When I came home after two days at Gina's, I saw that Daddy had fixed all the frames I'd destroyed and replaced the glass I'd broken. The wall was repaired where I'd missed. I wondered what he had done with the Ninja and I guessed it was better if I never knew. Daddy had also fixed my _To Max With Love_ necklace. I was wearing it now.

"Maxine Cale? Doctor Barnaby will see you now," the secretary announced. 

As I got up, Daddy squeezed my hand. Everyone else in the waiting room peered at me, wondering, _I wonder what _her_ problem is_. I knew because that's what I'd been thinking.

Dr. Zandra Barnaby was African American, like Aunt Cindy. Only Dr. Barnaby's skin was the color of wet tree bark, that dark brown it turns after a rain shower. Her hair was streaked with gray and pulled into a bun and she wore tiny, rimless glasses. She wore a magenta suit and a pearl necklace with matching earrings. She was also very skinny. 

"Hello, Maxine," she greeted, extending her hand in a gesture of welcome. I shook it and before Dr. Barnaby let go she held my hand in hers for a moment and then sat down in a big blue armchair. "You can sit if you'd like. I won't hurt you."

"No?" I sat slowly on a big red couch. I crossed my arms under my bosom and pursed my lips.

"No."

"That's too bad."

"Maxine," Dr. Barnaby repeated after a moment of silence. "That's a beautiful name. I was going to name my daughter Megan, Maxine. My husband and I were looking for a name that started with an M, but my husband wanted to name her Megan after his aunt."

I crossed my arms tighter.

"Well, Maxine, why don't we start by telling me about yourself, hm?"

"Like what?" I asked bitterly.

"Let's start with basic information. Where did your mom come up with a beautiful name like Maxine?"

"My mom's dead," I blurted. "She died when I was born."

Dr. Barnaby nodded, as if she knew I was going to say that. "You sound angry, Maxine."

"I am angry. Not knowing your mother makes you that way."

"Getting back to your mother—I understand you took out this anger on her photographs."

"Not the pictures. Just the frames."

"You also trashed her motorbike, correct?"

"Motorcycle. A black Ninja. A real beauty. Shiny chrome hubcaps, smooth leather seat, good handlebars."

"If you loved it so much, why destroy it?"

"Who said I loved it? I bashed the goddamn windshield in!"

Dr. Barnaby didn't ridicule me about my language, just nodded and scribbled on a pad. "You really are a very angry girl, Maxine. I can see that."

I was silent. How was I suppost to respond to that?

"Tell you what. Let's play a game. I'll say a word and you can tell me the first thing that pops into your mind, okay?"

I shrugged. I'd played this with Gina before except one of us would say the name of an actress or actor and the other would say the first thing they think of.

"Hot," Dr. Barnaby began.

"Cold," I responded.

"Angry."

"Sad." I wondered where she was going with this. 

"Wedding."

"Funeral."

"Mother."

"Dead."

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused."

"No, I wasn't playing then. I said, 'mother' and you responded with 'dead'. I found that odd."

I squirmed in my seat and fiddled with my necklace.

"I think that's enough word games," Dr. Barnaby said, writing on her pad. "Now, I want to ask you some questions about yourself and I want you to answer as truthfully as you can, okay?"

"All right."

"Do you hate your father?"

I bit my lip. "Sometimes."

"Do you hate your mother?"

That one I refused to answer.

"Do you hate yourself?"

"I don't 'hate', I 'highly dislike'," I informed her.

Dr. Barnaby put down her pad, "I can see you're not going to answer my questions so I'll tell you what. You'll be me and I'll be you."

"Huh?"

"You can ask me anything you'd like. You can be the doctor for today."

So I sat at her desk and took a piece of paper and a pencil from a holder and sat back, 

"How old are you?"

"Fifty-five," she said with a straight face.

"How much do you weigh?"

"One hundred and thirteen pounds."

"Did you ever regret marriage?"

"No."

"Do you know what it's like to be in someone's shadow?"

"Of course."

"Tell me about that."

"I had a sister named Matilda who was four years older. I also had a sister named Antoinetta who was two years younger. I was compared to Matilda while Antoinetta was compared to me."

"And where are your sisters now?"

"Matilda's a teacher and Antoinetta's a Broadway producer."

"What were you like as a child?"

"I was very quiet. I liked to be by myself and draw a lot."

"What did you draw?"

"Animals and forests. I also liked to jump rope. I did double-Dutch with my sisters."

I nibbled on the eraser of the pencil and wondered what else I could ask her. She was way too calm!

"Have you ever wanted to kill someone?" I asked.

"No."

"Me, neither. Ever want to shoot a random person?"

"No."

"Me, neither…ever feel such extreme hatred for someone that you wanted to rip off his head?"

"No."

"Me, neither. Hey, have you ever wanted to go on a killing spree right in the middle of a mall?"

"No."

"Yeah, me, neither. So…have you ever wanted to jump off the Space Needle?"

"No."

"Me, neither. Too high."

We were both silent for a minute. 

"You know, this is getting kind of boring."

"You're right. That's enough role-reversal."

I took my seat back on the couch. 

"Maxine, I want you to tell me what your life is like," Dr. Barnaby said. "What's it like being _you: _Maxine Cale."

"It's all right."

"Did you ever wish you were someone else?"

"Plenty of times. That way my mother would still be alive."

"How do you figure?"

"My dad named me Maxine after my mother," I began. "My full name is Maxine Guevara Cale, which was _her_ full name."

"Oh. Her name was Maxine, too?"

"No!" I corrected sharply. "Just Max. Only Max…my daddy said my mother had a baby sister named Eva who died when she was nine and I was to be named after her, if I was born a girl that is. If I was a boy I would be Zack after her brother who committed suicide."

"Suicide? Why would your mother name you after someone who committed suicide?"

Did she know about Manticore? "My mother needed a heart transplant and he was the only one with her blood type so he shot himself so the doctors could take his heart."

"I see."

"But, if my name was Eva Cale instead of Maxine Cale, my daddy wouldn't have had to name me for my mother. Therefore, she'd still be alive."

"So by changing your name, it would bring your mother back?"

"If I could turn back time, yes."

"Would you be happy if you were Eva?"

"Maybe. I'm not very happy being Maxine right now."

"I can call you Eva if you'd like."

"Really?"

"If that's what you want, whenever you're here you can be Eva," Dr. Barnaby promised as she scribbled furiously on her pad. "So, _Eva_, what do you like to do for fun?"

"I like to run," I said. "I do track at school. I've won first place in ten events at one meet. My teacher calls me Mad Max 'cause I run so fast."

"Congratulations," Dr. Barnaby smiled.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Who else knows about what we're talking about?"

"No one. Just the two of us. Everything said in this office stays here and never escapes. It's like…a big prison for all your problems. Your problems escape from your mouth and stick to the walls and they're stuck there forever."

"So if someone wanted to know about what I said and they branded you with hot coals you wouldn't tell?"

"Nope."

"What if they stuck your head in a box of scorpions? Would you tell?"

"No, I wouldn't. Not even your father knows what we're talking about."

"So…I can say anything I want and no one else but you will know?"

"That's true."

"Okay…I hate my mother."

"Really."

"I hate her so much that sometimes I'm glad she's dead!"

"I think that's a bit harsh, don't you, Eva?"

"I don't care! I'm living in her shadow! I have her name, her face, her voice and her damned wedding ring!"

"You have her wedding ring?"

"On my necklace," I threw my hair away from my chest so Dr. Barnaby could have a good look at the gold marriage band with the tiny diamond my daddy gave her eighteen years ago. "Inside it says _To Max With Love_."

"Why do you wear it on a necklace instead of on your finger?"

"Because all though I look like her, I don't want to be her. I always get, 'You look so much like your mother' from our family friends. And Daddy confuses me with her all the time. Sometimes I think that if I didn't look like my mother, Daddy would have given me up for adoption."

Dr. Barnaby put her pencil behind her ear. "Why do you hate your mother, Eva?"

"Because…because…because…" I stuttered. _Why did I have such a strong hatred for her?_ "I just do, is all!" I brought my hands up to cover my face and began to sob. _How many years have I spent crying over her?_

"It's okay, Eva," Dr. Barnaby said softly, coming over to sit next to me. She patted my knee with affection. 

"No, I don't want to be Eva anymore," I sobbed. "I want to be called by my real name: Maxine."

When my session ended, Daddy was waiting for me. I had cleaned up so he couldn't tell I'd been crying.

"Well, how was it?" he asked after he kissed me hello. "Was she nice?"

"Yes, she was very warm. I think I'm actually coming to terms."

We drove home in Daddy's Aztec in silence. We were each deep in our own thoughts. The ride seemed faster than it had been when we were going to see Dr. Barnaby for the first time.

The elevator ride up to the penthouse also took forever. I sat on the floor like I always do and Daddy held onto the handicapped railing. When it got to our place, I saw pink: pink carnations, that is. I stepped from the elevator aghast. In every vase and cubby hole, behind every photograph on the wall, Daddy had put a small bouquet of my favorite flower. The biggest surprise was right in front of me, on the table in the foyer. The vase my mother loved so had been fixed and now held sixteen pink carnations decorated with baby's breath. I whirled around in awe and hugged Daddy closely.

"Happy Birthday," he said, "and many more."


	7. Looking For Lydecker

On my request, I didn't have a birthday party that year

On my request, I didn't have a birthday party that year. I'd suggested we'd go out to eat, just Daddy and I, at a nice restaurant. Daddy said he liked that idea very much and let me pick where. After talking to Aunt Cindy, I led Daddy to the restaurant where he had taken my mother on their first anniversary. He said it was a good choice and proceeded with handing me the keys to a new black Impala.

After I celebrated my sixteenth birthday, I began to see Dr. Barnaby regularly, on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays for an hour to two-hour session. Sometimes I felt like talking, sometimes I didn't. Mostly, I told her what was going on in school and what I was doing with my friends. If I was in a bad mood I bitched and moaned to her while she sat there and listened, nodding like one of those bobbing-head dolls.

Spring break was now here and Daddy and I went to his cabin for the weekend. I had gotten permission to bring Gina along and we spent every day outside by the lake, just talking until the sun went down. Sometimes we went for runs, other times we explored the market place. One day we were sitting by the dock sharing a bag of Gummi Worms when Gina dropped a bomb:

"I found Donald Lydecker's address, Maxine."

"You what?" I nearly dropped the bag. "When? How? Where?"

"Never mind that—it's in my suitcase right now. You want it or not?"

"Yes, but where'dyou get it?"

"Remember when I said my parents worked for him? I'll admit I did my own share of snooping to my parents file cabinets and I looked up his current address."

I shook my head in disbelief. "That's amazing. There's so much I want to talk to him about…to ask him…oh no…"

"What?" Gina bit off the head of a Gummi Worm and chewed thoughtfully. Then she made a face and spit it into the lake. "Yuck, I hate the green ones."

"Daddy will never let me go see him," I moaned. "Not after how hatefully he spoke of Manticore. I'm sure he hated Lydecker as well. Gina, I'm so close!"

"Well, I think you should ask Doctor Barnaby. Maybe she'll help you get your way."

I winced and shook my head. "Nah. I don't think she can help me with that. She's already so deep into my inner psyche that she might drown."

Gina cracked up and shoved me playfully. "This from the girl who thought babies came from the stork till she was thirteen."

I laughed and shoved her back. It felt good to laugh with her again. It felt like I hadn't done it in ages. "Well, if I do go see him, I can't tell him who I really am. I'll have to wear a wig, too."

"Why?"

"I look so much like my mother that if he remembers what she looked like, he'll know who I am and it'll blow everything. I'll wear that blond wig, I think. The one that you used when you were Marilyn Monroe last year for Halloween. "

"Who will you say your name is? You can't say Maxine Cale, could you?"

"No. I can't say your name either. He knew your parents," I propped my head up on my hands and rested my elbows on my knees. "I'll just make one up."

"Mandy Core," joked Gina. "'Hi, I'm Mandy Core'." She cracked up.

"I'll use Zandra Barnaby," I decided. "I don't think anyone will mind."

"Dr. Barnaby might."

"She doesn't have to know."

Gina shook her head. "Last year I couldn't get you to make a speech in front of our English class and now you're talking about facing your mother's enemy? Wild. Maybe knowing all this about your mom made you a stronger person."

Maybe. But, what now? I had a plan, I had a disguise, I had a car and I had an alias. How was I suppost to get away from Daddy?

"Well, maybe you can say we're going shopping," Gina suggested. "Take your Impala and hightail it to Lydecker's."

"I don't know…I suppose it'll work…but what if we do say we're going shopping and we come home later than Daddy would figure?"

"Say that we ran into Ro. Her parents have a place up here, right?"

"Yeah. We can call Daddy and tell him we're going to hang at Ro's house for a while….perfect."

"C'mon—I'll show you the address."

We ran up the dock but I stopped short when I saw a familiar car in the driveway, between my Impala and Daddy's Aztec. 

"Whose car is that?" Gina asked me. 

It was a red, beat-up, unrecognizable make but the license plate was unforgettable: ORGNL CNDY.

"Aunt Cindy," I groaned. "Just what I need."

Gina and I walked into the cabin and were greeted by the scent of Daddy's stuffed baked potatoes. He and Aunt Cindy were talking in the kitchen. We tried to sneak past but Aunt Cindy and her sharp hearing caught us.

"Ain't it odd? It's my Neena and Gina," she joked, putting down the coffee mug she cradled in her hands. She made her way over to us and planted a kiss on our cheeks. Aunt Cindy had known Gina longer than I had. She and Charles Robinson were working stiffs at the hospital in their late twenties where he now worked. There, they both did clean up jobs and answered phones and did volunteering and after Aunt Cindy quit, she kept in touch with Charles.

"How yo' momma and daddy, Gina?" Aunt Cindy asked.

"Great," Gina smiled. 

"What brings you here, Aunt Cindy?" I asked.

"I was in the 'hood, baby boo. Can't I come up an' see my favorite li'l goddaughter and my late boo's husband without a reason?"

"Umm…"

"Chill, boo. I'm visitin' my new main lady, Ivory," Aunt Cindy winked. "But she's at work, y'know? So I thought I'd come up here'n say hey."

"Ivory? What ever happened Verona?"

Aunt Cindy laughed, "Neva you mind, baby boo." She winked and tugged my curls playfully. 

"Are you staying for dinner, Cindy?" Daddy asked. "We'd love to have you."

"Nah, boo. But thanks fo' the invite. I be comin' again sometime this week. Aine much t'do while Ivory's at work."

Aunt Cindy left an hour later and then Gina and I were free to go into our bedroom. Gina dug around in her suitcase and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with her frenzied handwriting scribbled about. I snatched it away and read it aloud.

"'Donald M. Lydecker, 276 Zwaboda Road. Vericonda, Oregon'?" I moaned as I read the state. "Damn it, Gina! Oregon?"

"Yeah, it surprised me, too. I would've thought he lived in Wyoming. That's where Manticore was, in Gillette. But my parents' files says he lives in this place called Vericonda. It's about a mile from Portland. Maybe he wanted to get as far away as possible from that hellhole."

"We can't tell Daddy that we're going to the mall when we're really going to Oregon, Gina. You're crazy!"

"So we'll say we're spending the night with Ro," she rolled her eyes and shrugged off her jacket.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. "Gina, that's going too far…"

"You want this?" Gina took the paper from me and waved it in my face. "Want it? I know you want it, Maxine. For a second you had some spark. I saw it. It's deep inside here," Gina poked my stomach just above my bellybutton, "but it's afraid to come out. Once you're afraid of being too far from Daddy, you shrink like a salted slug. I'm sorry if I'm being mean, Maxine, but trust me—you need this. If you want to stop seeing Dr. Barnaby day after day, week after week, you'll need to face this up."

The next day we went into town and bought two wigs: a light brown one for Gina and a blond one for me.

*

"So, girls," Daddy said as he served up waffles with blueberries on Friday morning. "What are your plans today?"

I stole a side-glance at Gina, who nodded so I could go ahead, "We're going for a drive to the mall," I explained. "We met Ro—Rosaida Clintock—in town yesterday and she wants to take us to a mall up by her place."

"Sounds fun," he said. "Will you be gone for the day?"

"Possibly. She lives about twenty minutes from here and the mall is another thirty from her place. "

Daddy gave it some thought as he chewed. "Well," he said between bites. "As long as you're home by a respectable hour. Say, nine PM?"

"Eleven," I bartered.

"Ten."

"Eleven-thirty."

"Ten-thirty."

"I'll take it," I surrendered. "If you want we can give you Ro's cell phone number. She takes it everywhere."

"I'd appreciate it, Maxine."

Gina scribbled it down from memory on a napkin and handed it to Daddy. "And this is Ro Clintock's cell phone?"

"Yes," Gina and I answered at the same time.

"I never thought Zelda was the kind of mother that would get Ro a cell," Daddy said skeptically.

"Ro bought it herself as a birthday present," Gina said. "Trust us, Mr. Cale—Ro knows what she's doing. We're going to drive Maxine's car up there and then leave it at Ro's and then take Mrs. Clintock's car to the mall."

"Well, okay," Daddy said carefully. "But I want you back no later than ten-thirty PM _sharp_." He stressed sharply.

"No problem, Daddy," I promised. "I'll make sure we'll bring you back something real special."

At nine AM, Gina and I readied ourselves to face Lydecker. We dressed in our normal clothes—jeans and T-shirts—and put some nicer clothes (mini dresses) in my backpack and the wigs in Gina's. I was really going out on a limb, I decided.

"Ready, _Zandra_?" she asked once in the car, using my false name.

"As I'll ever be, _Catherine_," I answered, using hers.

We were on the road for about five minutes when Gina took out the map she'd gotten at the same time we found our wigs. 

"Portland is here," she pointed. "We're here." Her finger pointed to another spot. "If we take Route Ninety…"

"Hey, Geen?" I asked.

"Yeah?" Gina didn't take her eyes off the map.

"Whose number did you give Daddy? Was that really Ro's cell phone?"

"No. It's my mother's old cell that she gave to me. I have it hidden in my backpack. I just gave your dad that number."

"You are _good_," I said.

"I know it. I'm going to put on that bitchin' wig," Gina reached into the backseat and pulled out her backpack. She unzipped it and pulled out the sandy brown wig with curly hair. I put my eyes back on the road while Gina readied herself. The next time I looked, blond-haired, blue-eyed Gina with the black-framed glasses was gone. In the passenger seat was the brunette Catherine. 

"_Bonjour_," she greeted with a silly smile, batting eyes and a French accent. "_Mon nom est_ Catherine DuMoulin. I am looking for zee Colonel Lydecker? Ah, _mon captain_. Zat Colonel…he ez_ très beau_, no?"

I had to laugh out loud. She had decided this "road trip" would be the perfect place to launch her acting career. 

"I think I'll be a French tourist," she decided earlier.

At the next light, I pulled out my wig. It was a bobbed cut, so blond it was almost white. I pulled my hair up into what looked like a bald wig and then placed the hairpiece on and looked in the mirror.

"I think I'll be German," I laughed. "_Hallo, ist mein Name Zandra. Ich bin aus von der Stadt heraus. Ich bin hier auf Geschäft_."

"What did you say?" Gina looked bewildered.

"I said my name was Zandra and that I was from out of town, here on business."

"Where did you learn German?"

"Daddy. He uses lots of different languages and German is one he uses a lot."

"Not fair. I only know a few phrases and you speak fluently!" Gina pouted. She shook her heads, "I could never compete with a girl who's half-Manticore, half-computer genius." She peered at the map again. "This trip, without traffic, will take us almost two and a half hours, roughly. With the traffic, it could take up to three."

"Good thing we don't have to be back until ten. It's nine AM, we'll get there by maybe noon. Stay till maybe five if we're not kicked out first, and then we'll be home by nine PM," I figured quickly.

Gina smirked. "All ready planning to run back home?"

"N-no…"

"C'mon, Maxine. You were, too," Gina giggled. "Okay, we'll take Route Ninety, it looks like. Go left."

I maneuvered my Impala like an expert on the highway. Gina turned the radio on and was singing along to the music and moving her upper body like she was dancing. 

We stopped at a Burger King to get some lunch after an hour in a half. I only ordered a vanilla shake. With every mile we got closer to Lydecker, my stomach became more knotted.

"We're almost there," Gina said excitedly when the Welcome to Oregon sign loomed ahead.

"Oh God I think I might be ill," I moaned. 

"Why? Lydecker's not anyone you haven't heard of."

"Just the fact of seeing him after so many years makes me jittery…are you sure you have the correct address?"

"I'm sure," Gina swore. "Okay, take this road to Portland and then take that road to Vericonda. Then, Zwaboda Road is to the right of a fork in the road on Kingston Street."

We arrived at Zwaboda Road at around noon. Number 276 was going to be a long way—Zwaboda started with Number 100. 

"Well, we're almost there," Gina said excitedly. "This is going to be wild!"

Number 276 was a quaint little yellow house with a brown door and shutters. I pulled up in front of the house and parked. Gina adjusted her wig in the mirror and then adjusted mine.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I sighed. 

We stepped out of the car and went up the walk way. My heart was beating so hard I thought it might pop out of my chest. We stepped up to the front door and I rang the bell.

A young woman wearing a pale yellow cashmere sweater and a pair of jeans answered. She had reddish-blond hair.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"I'm looking for Colonel Donald Lydecker," I announced. 

"Anna? Who's there?" a man's voice called, gruffly.

"Some people here to see you, Dad," the young woman answered over her shoulder.

A man with white hair and regal stature with chiseled features came up behind Anna and said, "I'll take it from here, Anna. Go back to fixing that lamp downstairs."

Anna gave us one last look and then turned away and left. Colonel Donald M. Lydecker was now standing before us.


	8. Face to Face

"What can I do for you girls?" Lydecker asked.

Gina cleared her throat, "Good afternoon, Colonel Lydecker. My name is Doctor Catherine DuMoulin. This is my associate, Doctor Zandra Barnaby."

Lydecker nodded.

"We have some inquiries about Project Mandicore," she continued in a voice I've never heard. "All though we understand Manticore is no longer in action—rather dormant, I suppose—but we were still wondering if you could be of service. If you could be so very kind to answer some minor questions, we would be very much obliged."

Lydecker seemed impressed but was a bit skeptic, "Doctors? You don't look old enough."

"We are both twenty three years old, Colonel. We're in medical school, interning at Portland General, and interested in working with children. I've read up on you and your success with children at Manticore."

"I'd hardly call it a success, ladies, but I'd be glad to answer any questions. Please, come in," Lydecker stepped aside and let us enter. 

"Thank you, Colonel Lydecker," I said.

"Please, call me Deck," he insisted. "Shall we go into the den?" He led us to a room off to the side where some very modern looking furniture stood in a black, white and brown décor. I now noticed Gina had grabbed a black bag with her and I saw it was full of papers, pens and a legal pad. 

"Would you like a cigarette, ladies?" he asked as we sat.

"No thank you," I said for the both of us.

"Do you mind if I?" he took a pack out of his pocket.

"It is your home," I said.

Lydecker chuckled as he put a cigarette in his mouth. "It's not my home," he said as he lit up. "It's Anna's—my daughter's. It's funny. One minute I'm thinking I would never presume to pollute the gene pool and here now I have a daughter.She lives with her husband and son while old Gramps gets the spare bedroom. Anna and Kurt were kind enough to put her old dad up after all my money from Manticore was gone."

"It is a very nice home," Gina commented.

"So, where did you ladies hear about me and my 'success'?"

"From Lillie and Charles Robinson," I said. "They are acquaintances of ours."

Gina gave me a Look.

"Yes, they used to work for me at Manticore. They left because they didn't appreciate the way I handled the escape."

"Escape?" I pretended to be intrigued.

"In 2009, twelve of my best soldiers escaped. X5's. They were the strongest. I ordered my guards to terminate any of them who made it to the perimeter. Two were killed."

I felt mildly sick. People my mother knew—dead. "So, what did you do after the escape?"

"I went on, did what I could to make X6's and X7's better. But their flaws kept getting worse until I broke down."

"Broke down?" Gina's eyes went wide. Obviously she had no idea.

"I went crazy, literally. I began babbling to myself, talking to people who weren't there and had other mild signs of Alzheimer's and schizophrenia. By this time, X15's were dropping like flies thanks to spontaneous combustion."

Gina and I gave each other knowing looks.

"So what happened?" I asked.

"Well, I was also remarried by then. My second wife Marie was worried because my violent mood swings and abrupt personality changes were upsetting her and corrupting Anna, who was about seven. Or eight, I suppose. My memory's failing me in my old age. I'm seventy-seven, can you tell? Anyway, Marie sent me to a sanitarium called Garden View for about seven years. I've been in one of those before. I was in ADAP in 1996 after my first wife was murdered a year before for erratic behavior and half a dozen disciplinary infractions like insubordination, disorderly conduct and a D.U.I. Of course while I was at Garden View, my successors had run Manticore into the ground."

"My apologies, Colonel Ly—I mean, Deck," Gina said. "Tell us more about those X5's. They escaped you say? Did you ever meet up with any of the escapees over the years?"

"Met up?" Lydecker cackled. "I was held hostage by two of them."

This was news to me. "Which two?"

"X5-599 and X5-452—Zack and Max."

I swallowed hard. "How'd it happen?"

"I was coming out of an ADAP meeting and Max came up behind me, put a knife to my throat and dragged me into an SUV where she and Zack took me to an abandoned warehouse and tied me to a chair, blindfolded."

My mother sure had nerves of steel.

"Zandra, are you all right?" Gina asked me. "You like a bit pale."

"I'm fine, Catherine. Just a little humid, I suppose. Please, Colonel, continue. I'm intrigued with this story."

"Yes, well," Lydecker nodded. "At this warehouse, they questioned me about their sister who'd been captured earlier that day…or the day before…anyway, when I couldn't supply answers, they hit me. See that cut there?" he pointed to a faint scar, but it was visible. "Zack did that. Then, in a struggle to free myself I cracked a bone in my arm. It was a very long day," Lydecker sighed. "That arm hurts like a bitch when it rains. And that Max, though. What a pisser. When I asked for water she said she'd spit on me but it'd be a waste of good saliva."

_Nerves of steel and snappy comebacks._

"She told me she had a grudge against me because I killed her sister Eva."

"You killed E—?" I stopped myself before Deck could realize what I'd said. This guy was outrageous.

"I remember leading them to their sister Brin that day with Zack holding a gun to my head," Lydecker winced. 

"Those two—Max and Zack were they?—do you ever know what happened to them?" Gina asked innocently, playing with her false brown curls. 

"Nope. Not a clue. At least not about Max. Zack committed suicide awhile back," Lydecker looked slightly remorseful. 

I couldn't hold it back any longer. I gave Gina a Look to tell her I was going to tell him. "I know what happened to Max."

"What's that?" He looked confused. 

Simultaneously, Gina and I slowly removed our wigs. Lydecker took such a deep, rattling breath I thought he was having a heart attack.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my home? You're no doctors—you look like a pair of—"

"Kids?" I finished. "Donald Lydecker, may I introduce Gina Robinson."

"Lillie and Charles Robinson's daughter. And you are?" Lydecker glared at me.

"My name is Maxine Guevara Cale."

Lydecker's anger turned to surprise "Cale? As in…"

"Logan Cale."

"He's your…"

"Father."

"And your mother is?"

"X5-452. Max Guevara."

Lydecker coughed and inhaled a shallow breath. I was ready to dash to a phone and call 9-1-1. I seriously thought he was having palpitations. "I did my job too well."

"What?" I was confused. Gina excused herself and let me and Lydecker talk.

"Your mother—a troublemaker. I can see too much of her in you," Lydecker said as soon as Gina was gone. "She was…my daughter, almost."

"Daughter?"

"Well, let me use the words I told your mother twenty-six years ago. It would make it easier on myself. My wife…I loved her very much. She was my high school sweetheart. My first wife, Anna. I loved her more than I did Marie. She…I…she was the picture of perfection. When she was murdered, I kept a small part of her alive in your mother, Max. She had her eyes and you have her eyes. It's all…all like some odd conspiracy. You are the exact copy of your mother. Maxine's your name, right?"

"Yes, sir," I lowered my eyes.

"Who in their right mind would name their child after themselves?"

"My father named me after my mother because she died having me!" I shouted at him, standing up.

"Died having you? Max? My Max…dead?"

"She died sixteen years ago on my birthday," I saidwith that bitter edge that usually showed up when I spoke of her.

"How old was she? Do you know?" 

"Twenty-nine," I said.

"Last I saw her she couldn't have been more than nineteen."

My eyes filled with tears. "Colonel Lyedecker…how well did you know my mother?"

"I knew her well enough. She was my captor at one time," he made a poor attempt at humor. "She was the image of my Anna. I showed her favoritism when she was my little soldier. Many nights I thought about taking her away from Manticore so they couldn't do anything to her?

"What about my father? Did you know him?"

Lydecker nodded and put out his cigarette. "I knew Logan Cale. A genius man, he was. Yet, a stupid man to fall for a woman like Max."

"How stupid could he be? He married a sweet woman who had a heart of gold who just happened to be a genetically enhanced killing machine," I shot back.

Lydecker was silent for a few moments, "I was at their wedding, you know."

"No, I didn't."

"They had a private ceremony but I hid in the back, behind some flowers—no one could see me. I watched them say their vows and oh, how I missed Anna then. I knew Logan loved Max. I've known it from the time I met him until their wedding."

"Did you ever keep in touch with him?"

"No…I didn't think Max would want to ever see me again and whatever Max wanted, she usually got and so I figured that if Max never wanted to see me, neither would Logan."

I needed to piece this all together. "Colonel? What am I to you?"

"Pardon?"

"If my mother was like your daughter…am I like your granddaughter?"

Cocking his head to the ceiling, Lydecker gave it some thought. "Max was more than _like_ a daughter. I loved her like a daughter. I would be honored if you considered me your grandpa."

Gina came back into the room. "Uh, Maxine? We're short on time, sort of."

"I have an idea," I said. "Colonel, I think it's time you met your 'son-in-law'."

After he spoke to his daughter Anna, it was arranged. Gina and I drove back to Daddy's cabin with Lydecker in the back seat. No one said a word on the drive home.

By the time we got to the cabin, it was a quarter to ten PM. Gina and I helped Lydecker up the old stairs and into the house.

"Daddy, we're home!" I called. I could smell that Daddy been burning candles—the living room had that waxy, burnt smell. 

"Good, right on time," Daddy rolled into the living room with a smile on his face that melted like one of his candles as soon as he saw Lydecker standing between me and Gina. "Deck."

"Logan," Lydecker said coolly. "So we meet again."

So far, this wasn't going as well as I'd hoped.


	9. No More Lies

"Now, Daddy, don't do anything rash," I said.

"Maxine…you know who this is?" Daddy kept his eyes on Lydecker. Daddy's fifty-seven years immediately changed to sixty-seven. Deep lines etched within his forehead. 

"Yes…I do," I glared at Daddy. "I know who he is and then some."

Daddy and Lydecker stared at each other coolly. 

"Well," Lydecker coughed. "I can see I'm not wanted here, Maxine. I can catch a bus home."

"No," I grabbed his arm as he turned to leave. "Daddy…Colonel…I know I'm acting childish and I feel embarrassed about this moment but I just assumed…"

"Well, you know what they say," Daddy interrupted. "'Assume' makes an ass out of you and me."

I winced. That hurt.

"Either way, we have a guest. Gina?"

Gina, who had been studying her shoes, looked up. "Hmm?"

"Go get _Colonel_ Lydecker some coffee."

"No, that's okay," Lydecker insisted. "I just want to see what Maxine had in mind for us men."

"I was wondering that, too."

All eyes were on me now, even Gina's. My heart fluttered like a caged butterfly.

"First," I said shakily. "I want to know how the two of you know each other."

"I know this has to do with your mother in one way or another," Daddy muttered. He turned around in his wheelchair and went into the living room. Gina, Lydecker and I followed.

Once we were all seated—Gina and I on a love seat and Lydecker on the couch and Daddy across from Lydecker in his wheelchair—Daddy cleared his throat and threw another hard glance at Lydecker.

"If you must know, Maxine, Lydecker and I both knew your mother very well in one way or another."

"Of course you knew the girl very well, you married her even after that damn virus," Lydecker blurted. "It's obvious you were smitten with each other the last time we met."

"Virus?" Gina and I exclaimed simultaneously.

"After that was cleared up we _were_ married," Daddy said. "I never forgave Manticore after that. It made Max miserable."

"It wasn't my fault. Blame that witch Renfro. Lucky she's dead or I would a killed her myself."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I stood up. "I'm here, too…someone want to fill me in? Daddy?"

"What?" Daddy didn't take his steel blue eyes off of Lydecker. 

"Can you do me a _teeny favor_ and tell me _what the hell you are talking about_? Did you _happen_ to skip a_ tiny _detail and forget to tell me about a _virus_?" I crossed my arms and glared at my father. Gina grabbed one of my belt loops on my jeans and tugged me back down onto the love seat on which we were sitting. I flopped down ungracefully but my cold stare didn't break.

Daddy exhaled a big puff of air and wheeled back and forth like a rocking chair. "Damn it all to hell," he muttered. He ran his fingers though his hair, a poor combing job. "I really didn't want to tell you this."

"You were gonna have to sooner or later," I pointed out. "What if this virus catches up to me or something?"

"That's not possible," Lydecker assured. "It's been terminated and that's all there is to it."

I was taken aback. "I want to know _everything_," I emphasized harshly. "Last time you left this part out."

"I didn't think it was important at the time," Daddy snapped. "It was a painful memory, Maxine."

"Every thing you told me was a so-called 'painful memory'," I fired back. "What's so different about now? For the love of God, I'm 16 and I have no mother and I sure as hell want to know why."

"Maxine," hissed Gina softly in my ear. "Chill or you won't get anything."

I put the back of my hand to my lip and bit down on the second joint of my index finger just soft enough not to draw blood and stayed quiet. Lydecker cleared his throat and began. Daddy didn't object.

"I was run out of Manticore by this…bleached blond bitch, Renfro. She murdered one of my kids, an X5 named Tinga. Needless to say I was out for revenge."

So far it sounded like the beginning of a bad horror flick but I nodded. 

"Your mother, Max, made a few careless mistakes and was taken back to Manticore by Renfro after her heart transplant. I trust you know about that?"

"Yes," I said softly. "Zack committed suicide."

"Yes, well…Max was believed to be dead by everyone including your dad. Really, she was just taken back without a word."

"I watched her die," Daddy said softly. He had dropped his chin to his chest and was sitting back in his wheelchair. He looked as if he was sleeping but he was wide awake. "I thought I'd lost her forever." Daddy's sorrow from remembering my mother this way shook him terribly.

"Your dad had this…newscast called Eyes Only—"

"Television hack," Daddy corrected. "It informed the state about what they knew little about. Eyes Only revealed Manticore for what it really is. They disguised it as a VA hospital. No one knew what it really was until I blew the cover."

"Anyway," Lydecker picked up again. "People were after me…trying to kill me. Several people."

Daddy muttered something under his breath.

"You want to adlib here, Cale?" Lydecker sneered. 

"No, go ahead," Daddy growled.

"You just to be a bigger man, Cale. Last time I saw ya you had regal snide. Stood taller. What's the matter, huh?"

"You gonna tell the damn story or play witty banter, Lydecker?"

"Ain't my story to tell."

"Tell it or not, I don't really care," Daddy waved his hand non-chalantly.

"When was the last time you saw each other?" Gina asked. I nudged her. If I had to stay quiet so did she.

"Back in '20, I think," Daddy said. "You said you had something for me and then you shot me."

"I told you to duck, didn't I?" Lydecker practically chuckled. "Those legs you had on weren't as swift as you thought, eh?"

"I threw those out years ago. Piece-of-crap scrap metal."

"You…had on other legs?" I was confused.

"Robotic braces," explained Daddy. "An exoskeleton. I tossed them in a dump while you were still an accident waiting to happen." He tugged my curls and laughed lightly.

"You were an Eyes Only informant?" Gina asked Lydecker.

"Something along the lines of that."

"What ever happened to Manticore?" I wondered out loud.

"It burned to the ground, thanks to Renfro."

"Where is Renfro now?" My mind was all ready planning to track her down.

"Dead. She took a bullet for your mom."

My hope deflated. "Any special reason?"

"Who knows. She was a crazy ol' fossil. Better off dead anyway. I hope she's giving Satan orders down in hell and he's wishing she was good enough for Heaven, thinkin' maybe she was another punishment for him," Lydecker reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He didn't open them, just held them in his hand.

"About the virus…what was it?"

"It was a genetically targeted retrovirus" Daddy said. "They implanted it in Max to get to me. Renfro knew I was gonna blow the lid off of Manticore and I was on the hit-list along with Lydecker. We weren't allowed to touch—we _couldn't_ touch. Renfro knew Max was…involved with me. They were trying to destroy me—kill me—through her."

"And it was cured?"

"Of course. They did find the cure. Your mom and I were married in '29 and…here you are."

"Here I am," I repeated. "Anything else I should know? My mother wasn't from another planet or anything? No mental illnesses? Anything that should worry me?"

"Nope," Daddy assured me. "I believe we've told you everything. No more lies."

That night, after Lydecker had caught a bus home on his insistence, Daddy, Gina and I sat outside, listening to the crickets and the water lapping on the dock. We were set to leave the next day and we were enjoying the sereneness of it all before our return to the noisy Seattle streets. After about two hours, Gina got cold and went inside, leaving me alone with Daddy.

"I'm sorry if I upset you today," I said to him.

"Don't worry," Daddy said. "You had a right to know. You were acting out. Only natural." He motioned for me to come closer and I did, hugging him. He wrapped his finger around one of my corkscrew curls and tugged gently, his common show of affection. "I'm sure your mother is looking down from Heaven and smiling."

I looked up at the stars…and one of them winked at me.


	10. Home Movies

May in Seattle, of course, brought rain, like the rest of the year. It didn't damper anyone's mood however, except Aunt Cindy.

"Rain always makes my knees hurt," she grimaced. "I broke 'em when I fell off a my cycle workin' at Jam Pony back 'bout twenty years ago. Now they hurt when it rains, practically every day thank ya very much."

It was a common complaint streaming out of her mouth. Aunt Cindy would even walk with a limp purposely just to prove her point if need be.

With June at our backs and finals creeping up, school was a living hell now. Teachers screamed at us when a task wasn't completed in an orderly fashion, homework piled up, review sessions filled our schedules and between all that, my swim team and track meets almost every day and sessions with Doctor Barnaby three times a week, I was lucky to get home before nine o'clock. Luckily I had Gina with me in five out of eight classes or I might not have survived. We sat together and passed notes, making side comments and jokes about the teacher's lesson. We were on the swim team together and sometimes we did homework together at either her penthouse or mine.

One day I came home after an exhausting swim meet around seven-thirty and collapsed on the couch. The coach was in a bad mood today and made us swim lap after lap after lap. Every muscle in my body was throbbing. Daddy wheeled over and looked down at me.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Ugh, please…no food," I grimaced. "My stomach is all knotted."

"Did you eat anything today?"

"I had a small lunch," I admitted.

"Well, come on then. Up and at 'em. You can't have dessert if you don't eat dinner."

"Dessert?" I sat up, mildly interested.

"Oh, for that you get up?" Daddy laughed. "C'mon. You know you want to. You always love my cooking." He tugged on my sweatshirt sleeve and I stood up off the couch and followed him into the kitchen. "I made a roast chicken."

My stomach growled, _Please feed me!_

So I sat and Daddy served me, "What's the dessert?" I asked. "Aunt Cindy get a cake?"

"It's not food," he said.

"Then why is it dessert?"

"Because it's a treat that comes at the end of the meal. Eat up or wait till tomorrow."

"But—"

"No more questions," Daddy smiled. "Eat."

"Three more," I begged.

Daddy relented, "Fine. Only three, yes-or-no answer."

"Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

"No."

"Can I wear it on my head?"

"Maybe…if you practiced real hard."

I stabbed a piece of chicken with my fork and thought of a third question. "Does it have to do with Mom?"

"I'm not answering that," Daddy gave a tight-lipped smile.

"It does! I can tell!" I laughed. "What is it?"

"Eat," Daddy insisted. "Or you will never know and I'll just keep it locked up…"

"Daddy, quit teasing!"

"Clean your plate and I will."

I ate fast enough without choking myself. I didn't realize how hungry I was until I actually took a bite.

"And you didn't want to eat," Daddy smirked playfully. 

"What I wanted was to find out what you found!" I could barely stand it. "Tell me, c'mon!"

Daddy pretended to ignore me and wheeled himself into his bedroom and came out with an ancient VHS tape in his lap. "This thing still works. I tried it when you were at school." He handed it to me.

I read the label on the tape and grinned widely. "'Max's 21st," I read out loud.

"It's a home movie of your mom's first birthday party. I found it in a box in the closet. I thought you would enjoy it."

I hugged Daddy hard and kissed his cheek over and over again in thanks. After all I'd put him through these past few months he was still willing to discuss it!

"How do I put it in?" I asked. I handed the tape back to Daddy who wheeled over to our television and pressed a few buttons and popped in the tape. 

"Now just press play here…" Daddy muttered. "Okay. Take a seat, show's on."

I sat on the couch and propped my head up in my hands and kept my eyes on the screen.

The video began with Mom blowing out the candles in the living room of the penthouse and people singing happy birthday. I recognized Bling and Aunt Cindy there but no one else had a familiar face.

"Happy birthday, boo," Aunt Cindy hugged Mom while everyone clapped. While no one was talking, Daddy narrated, pointing out things I might not have recognized.

"Your mom never knew her real birth date and everyone thought she should have one. Everyone who knew where she was from, anyway," Daddy recalled. "So she picked April twenty-seventh because she said spring was her favorite season and April was the month spring usually was in swing. And from then on that was her birthday."

"But she knew how old she was, right?" I asked, watching my mother's face glow as brightly as the candles on that cake as she opened her gifts and laughed. I had never seen my mother in moving pictures or hear her voice. 

"Yeah, so on her twenty-first, she chose a birthday for herself," Daddy said, moving some stray curls away from my face.

I smiled at Daddy and watched the video. Aunt Cindy was behind the camera now, filming Daddy and Mom on the couch surrounded by balloons and remains of gift wrap. Mom had her head in Daddy's lap, using it like a pillow.

"So," Aunt Cindy's voice said. "Max finally has a birthday. Tell me, what's it like to be another year older an' still yet another year wiser?"

"Tiring?" Mom laughed.

"You get used to that," Daddy on video sighed. "Welcome to the depressing world of birthday parties. Another wonderful way to remind you how old you're getting."

"Shut up, Logan," Mom smacked Daddy lightly on the arm. 

"Now that ya got b-day, boo, when's y'all gonna get married?" Aunt Cindy asked.

"Sometime in the next millennium," Mom said sarcastically. "I don't think marriage is the Manticore thing to do."

"You ain't there no more," Aunt Cindy reminded her. "Logan get yo' sorry ass on the floor down on one knee and propose to my boo."

I had to laugh. Aunt Cindy really hadn't changed.

"Not today, Cindy," Daddy slid off the couch and stood up. It was humbling to see him at his full height. He must have been wearing those bionic legs—the exoskeleton—he had been talking about. "Give me the camera."

"No, I ain't done yet! I still gotta talk about what y'all gonna name the kids!" Aunt Cindy laughed. The camera's view went kind of crazy and then turned off.

"I practically had to wrestle with Cindy for that thing," Daddy laughed.

"Is that it?" I asked sadly. 

"No," Daddy said. "I think there's some more on here…I used this tape for tons of things." His tone sounded sly, like there was a surprise at the end.

The camera turned on again and focused on my mother. She waved into the camera and said, "I hope this thing's on. Is it running, Logan?" She looked up at supposedly Daddy. I recognized the setting as Daddy's bedroom.

"Yeah, it's on. Go ahead, Max," Daddy's voice from behind the camera.

"You sure?" Mom looked skeptical. "The little light thing isn't on…"

"Max, it says 'recording.' I'm watching the screen. I'm not _that_ blind."

"Sure you're not. Okay, if it's all running smoothly, you can leave," Mom insisted. "I kind of want to do this myself, okay?"

"Huh? Okay…close the door?"

"Yeah, just set the thing on the dresser or tripod or whatever."

"Whatever," I heard Daddy mutter. Then he walked out and close the door. Mom sat on the bed and took a deep breath. 

"Okay," she said. "This is going to be my…little video message to you, my baby." She stood and turned so she could show her profile. She was wearing a black turtle neck shirt and gray sweatpants and clearly was eight or nine months pregnant. "So far you don't have an officialname yet because your dad and I chose not to know if you were a boy or girl but if you _are_ a girl your name is Eva and if you _are_ a boy you'll be Zack." She sat down again. "God, now that Logan's gone I really don't know what else to say. But I will say this: if you're ever in need of a job, don't work at Jam Pony." She burst out laughing. "No, no, I'm kidding…I actually just wanted to let you know that you're going to be born into a world that I never had. One full of family and love and endless care. I doubt you'll ever go hungry either because your dad is one of the best cooks I've ever encountered…and I haven't encountered a whole lot. Someday when you're old enough I'll tell you what I really mean. I didn't really have…the world's best childhood and I'm hoping you will.

"Even though by the time you see this you'll be a big kid, I want you to realize no matter what you do I'm always going to love you and I hope that you will love me back. You're very special to me even when you're right here," she pressed her hands to her stomach and then wiped away some tears. "Before you got here I had two other babies inside me that died before they were even born…and you're due in about a week and I can't wait for you to come." Mom wiped her eyes again and stood up and turned the camera off. The tape ended there. Daddy wheeled over to the television set and pressed stop. I didn't realize I was crying until I touched my cheek and felt that they were wet. 

"Thank you, Daddy," I said. "That was the best dessert I've ever had a taste of."


	11. Accident Waiting To Happen

Author's Note: Parts of "Blah-Blah, Woof-Woof" are mentioned in this chapter and the next one…they are sort of copycats of tha

Author's Note: Parts of "Blah-Blah, Woof-Woof" are mentioned in this chapter and the next one…they are sort of copycats of that episode. Oh well…ridicules welcome. Lord knows I've gotten many thanks to this story.

To tell the entire truth, my story does not have a happy ending.

Hang on—I _was_ lying because that's _not_ entirely true. It's more bittersweet than anything. Shall I start from the beginning? A foolish question; of course I should begin there. Where else is there to start?

I graduated with the Class of 2047 on the high honor roll. I did not make valedictorian thanks to a B plus in Chemistry, but I graduated third in a class of one hundred and fifty-three. Daddy was sitting in the front row, of course, clapping the loudest and smiling broadly when my name was called to receive my diploma. I never saw him so happy in my entire life. I knew, all though I didn't say it, that he was thinking about Mom and how proud she would be. He looked at me fondly in my graduation gown and I could tell he was remembering her.

"No more little girl," he said, tugging my curls after graduation. We were standing outside the school. I bent down to hug him and I swore he was crying. "I'm going to miss you, kitten."

Kitten. That long-forgotten pet name. I swallowed hard and tried not to cry. My choice college was Berkley in California and I was a little uneasy about leaving Daddy. I had to admit Gina had been right: I _was_ a Daddy's girl!

"I'll miss you, too," I said. "But I'm not leaving until September. It's only June."

"Still, it's a little scary for me," Daddy said. I sat on a bench that was near the entrance to the school so I could be at eye-level with him. Daddy cupped my chin in his hand and sighed. "You've never even been away for a sleep away camp as a little girl and now you're all grown up, off to college."

"I'll always be close to you, though," I said, kissing his cheek. "And I'll always be your little girl on the inside, even when I'm thirty years old."

Daddy laughed. His eyes looked whimsical and tugged my curls again. "Do me one favor, though, Maxine. Don't straighten your curls, okay?"

"Why?" I asked, playing with them.

He cleared his throat. "When I first met your mom she had curly hair like this. Big banana curls. When she came back from Manticore after she'd supposedly died, her curls were gone."

I thought back to the video Daddy showed me last month and I did notice that her hair was longer and straighter than in most of her pictures.

"I love my curls," I assured Daddy. "They're never going anywhere."

Now that I think about it and look back upon that quote, I wonder if I was talking about my curls or my relationship with Daddy.

My summer was spent keeping myself busy. I had a job as a waitress now at a small restaurant and coffee house simply called The Café. It was one of the nicest in Seattle and it paid very well. This was so I could have extra money to spend at college. One of my co-workers, a shy black girl named Nikka, was also going to be attending Berkley and we became close. Our boss, an elderly woman named Marla, usually put us on the same shift. 

Nikka was almost fascinated when I revealed I had no mother.

"My daddy isn't with my mama no more," Nikka said. "I think it would be interesting to see if they get together." She joked and nudged me as we washed dishes one night. It was closing time and the last customers were leaving. "What's the matter, Maxine? You got the sense of humor of a wet mop tonight."

"I'm sorry, Nikka," I winced. My mind flashed back to my mother's smile on the video tape. "I was just thinking about my mother."

"Oh. Sorry. I keep forgettin' she's in the ground. My daddy's just in Virginia."

"It's okay," I sighed as I scrubbed a plate. "She's been gone for eighteen years. Daddy's not so hung up on her being gone now that—" I stopped myself. _I know the truth_ was on the tip of my tongue. "Now that I've been watching this one videotape she made before I was born. That I've seen her and known her almost as good as he once did. They were friends for about ten years before they got married."

Nikka looked at me disbelievingly. "Damn. My momma and daddy knew each other for about six weeks before they had me, then got married. My sister and my twin brothers came after. When Henry and Alonzo were three, Daddy left. Ain't seen him since." Nikka smiled slyly.

I laughed. "The problem with me going to California for college is, I'm such a baby. I've never been away from my dad for an extended period of time. My friend Gina calls me a Daddy's girl. We're so close. I think I'd roll over and die myself if I lost him." I rinsed the last dish and dried my hands on my black bistro apron and my rattiest jeans. "Whew. That's done."

"Thank God," mumbled Nikka. "I got enough dishes at my house that need cleaning and I do 'em for free."

Chuckling, I untied my bistro and balled it up. I glanced at the coat rack. My mother's leather jacket was waiting for me. I began wearing it with my father's blessing.

"Nothing else will keep you warmer than this jacket," he said, "on those chilly Seattle nights coming home from work."

"Well, at least we'll have some extra cash," I reminded her. "I don't want my dad to sell anything just to keep up with tuition."

Daddy had told me he had sold some paintings to help cure the virus Mom had.

"My momma's already workin' a second job to keep me and Torrance in school and my twin brothers in day care. I intend to send her at least half of my paycheck," Nikka untied her bistro and let it fall to the floor. "I'll be lucky to have a few extra dimes to spare for myself. My family never bounced back after the Pulse."

"A lot of families didn't," I said, thinking of Mom and her brothers and sisters. "And it's been a good twenty years since that."

"No kidding," Nikka wrinkled her nose. "You walking or driving home?"

"Driving," I said. I knew what Nikka was asking for. "Want a ride?"

"Sure, thanks," she smiled. Picking up her bistro, she sighed. "My back hurts. Can't wait to get home, even if it means sharing a room with Torrance. Hey, how come your parents never had any more kids before you?"

I dumped the old coffee into the sink. "My mom had two miscarriages before me. Maybe more, but I don't know. I guess if those babies lived, I might have other siblings but I think those miscarriages kept her alive longer."

Nikka cleaned the cappuccino machine. "How so?"

"Well, she died right after I was born. If the other babies lived, she might have died then. I don't know. There's a lot of 'what if's' and 'if only's' about my mom."

"I hear you. Your momma must've been really pretty," she said all of a sudden.

"She was. I carry her picture with me," I admitted.

"Could I see?" Nikka asked.

I nodded and went over to Mom's leather jacket. Out of the pocket I took out my silk wallet Daddy had given me for my seventeenth birthday and opened it to the picture pockets. Daddy had scanned some pictures on one of his computers and shrank them to make them fit. I handed the wallet to Nikka who smiled when she saw Daddy and Mom's wedding portrait and the one of Mom posed on her Ninja motorcycle [I eventually discovered that Daddy had given that bike to Aunt Cindy for "safe keeping"]. I also had the picture of Mom and Zack on the beach.

"You do look just like her," Nikka said fondly. "Who's that blond man? That isn't your daddy, is it?"

"Oh," I said, looking over Nikka's shoulder. "No. That's my mom's big brother, Zack. He's dead, too."

"For real?"

"He's been dead longer than I've been alive," I grimaced. "He shot himself."

Nikka nodded knowingly. "My momma's brother committed suicide too. He OD'd on sleeping pills to avoid paying a gambling debt." She snapped the wallet shut and handed it back to me. "I'll sweep and you mop tonight," she suggested.

Nodding, I took my wallet back to my mom's leather jacket. I detested sweeping and was happy to take the other job.

"Turn on the radio, Maxine," Nikka called as she gathered the broom and dustpan. "I need to dance."

I went behind the counter and switched on the radio. Nikka used the broom as a partner and danced around. I laughed and clapped to the music.

"Please, girls," snapped Marla, coming up from the basement. "I'd like to get out of here before midnight. Fletcher, put your 'boyfriend' to work and Cale, start vacuuming the back room."

When Marla called you by your last name, she ment business. With our heads down and concealing tight-lipped smiles to keep the giggles from coming out, Nikka and I finished our work.

That night after I drove Nikka home and was on my way back to Foggle Towers, there was a lot of traffic. Rather than honk my horn and rant and rave, I turned off the engine and got out of the car to hunt up a police man. I was within walking distance of home but no one was budging. I found a cop whose back was to me. I tapped his shoulder. Annoyed, he turned.

"Yeah, what do ya want?" he asked.

"Listen, man," I said calmly. "Is there any way I can get through? If I could I can walk home from here but I happen to have my car over there…"

"Where do you live, ma'am?" he asked, rolling his eyes, as if he's heard this complaint before.

"There," I pointed over the cop's shoulder. "Foggle Towers."

The cop cleared his throat. "Well, there's been a little emergency at the towers, miss. So if you want to go, you can, but—"

"Aunt Cindy!" I spotted her in the distance. I waved and the cop looked confused.

"You know her?"

"That's my godmother," I said, pushing past the cop. "Aunt Cindy! Cindy!" I ran towards her and fell into her open arms. She had been standing by an ambulance with a worried stare in her eyes and her mouth covering her grimace of…horror? Fear?

"Boo, I was wonderin' where you were," she sighed, holding me close like I was still a tiny baby. "I was getting' scared."

"Aunt Cindy, what happened?" I asked. "Why are you here?"

Pausing, she managed to croak out, "It's Logan…he ain't doin' so good."

"What are you saying? What happened? Aunt Cindy, tell me!"

"Oh, Max," she said, calling me my mother's name in a way that made me want to sob. "It's all gonna be okay, boo. Just fiiiine."

"Aunt Cindy," I broke from her embrace and held her hands in mine. She was trembling. "Tell me what happened," I said in a slow and steady voice.

Aunt Cindy opened her mouth to speak but her gaze shifted from me to off to the side where three men were carrying out Daddy on a stretcher. 

"Oh God," I dropped Aunt Cindy's hands and ran.

"Max!" she yelled after me.

"What happened? How is he?" I asked one of the paramedics.

"Ma'am, please get out of the way," one of them growled. 

"I'm his daughter!" I screamed. "Someone fill me in!"

"Move outta the way, honey," I was told. One of the meds took me aside and told me what was up.

"Thank God your aunt was there or your father might be dead right now," he said sternly.

"How'd he—what happened?" I was near tears.

"We found him unconscious when we got there…apparently he'd fallen out of his wheelchair and when your aunt came for a visit, she found him."

"Can you tell me anything else?" 

"Not at the minute…you and your aunt should follow us to Metro Medical."

Aunt Cindy and I got into my car and we followed the ambulance. It was the longest ride of my life. Nothing would prepare me for what was ahead.


	12. The Waiting Begins

David Normal David 2 378 2001-10-27T17:04:00Z 2001-10-27T17:04:00Z 4 1790 10203 85 20 12530 9.2720 

            "This has happened before," Dr. James Gallagher explained to me at Metro Medical. Aunt Cindy and I were speaking to him in his office and he was reading from Daddy's medical files. "It's in his records. It seems he was experiencing spasms that were caused because of a bullet fragment that migrated too close to his spine. It was impacting the spinal cord and it could have kept moving and cause more damage. Could have made him a quadriplegic. He was found unconscious."

            "How long ago was it?" I asked.

            "Oh, at least twenty," Dr. Gallagher read. "'09. By the looks of you, I suspect it was before you were even a second thought, huh?"

         I nodded, playing with my key rings.

            "Anyway, the docs operated and he would of died if not for his ah…well, I guess it would be your mother."

            I gave him a pensive look. "What about my mother?"

            "Well, there was a girl who was arrested in your father's room after they found her giving him a transfusion when the blood banks were tapped out. From the police reports she looked exactly like you. He's AB negative—very hard to come by. It's the rarest blood type."

            "So in short this is the same thing all over again?"

            "Well, he also might be anemic. We need to do a some tests on him, that's all. Trust me, Ms. Cale. We're doing our best to find out what caused him to collapse."

            "What's anemic?" I asked. "I think I've heard of it before…"

            Typing on his computer, Dr. Gallagher began to explain, "Anemic is when you have, of course, anemia. Oxygen is carried by hemoglobin, a substance found in red blood cells. When either red blood cells or hemoglobin are in short supply the body does not receive as much oxygen as needed. The problem known as anemia and can cause excessive tiredness, stroke and heart attack. While there are many causes of anemia, a blood test can usually detect any deficiency in red blood cells or hemoglobin."

            "So, he might have had a stroke or a heart attack?" I asked fearfully.

            "We're trying to figure that out," Dr. Gallagher said. "Surgery might also be an order. The blood banks are low, they have been since the Pulse. I can't help that."

            "Logan's _healthy_," Aunt Cindy stressed. "I thought only sickly people get anemia."

            "Anemia may be due to loss of blood from internal bleeding caused by a peptic ulcer or from hemorrhoids," Dr. Gallagher continued. "A healthy person whose diet contains plenty of iron and vitamins can produce large amounts of new blood. However, if your diet is inadequate, even small, persistent losses of blood may cause anemia." He was beginning to sound like a textbook.

            "My daddy's a culinary mastermind. He eats plenty," I insisted.

            "After Max died—that's his wife, doc—Logan didn't really eat or nothing for weeks," Aunt Cindy revealed. "But he began to regain a healthier lifestyle as time went on."

            "There _are_ several kinds of anemia," Dr. Gallagher told us. "Iron-deficiency anemia can develop in those who do not have enough iron, which is an essential ingredient of hemoglobin." He produced two small bottles of pills and set them on his desk. "Lack of Vitamin B-12 or folic acid can result in Vitamin B-12 deficient anemia and folic acid deficient anemia. Hemolytic anemia occurs when red blood cells are destroyed more quickly than they can be replaced. That's mainly what we're testing for."

            "I'm sure Logan will be oh-so-thrilled to find this all out," Aunt Cindy rolled her eyes.

            "The symptoms of anemia include fatigue, weakness, fainting, breathlessness, and heart palpitations. Has Mr. Cale been experiencing any of these?" Dr. Gallagher asked Aunt Cindy sharply. "I understand you lived with him for sometime."

            "Only to take care of his baby after Max died. She ain't held out too long after the birthin'," Aunt Cindy shot back. Her face softened as she rubbed my back affectionately. "Takin' care of babies wasn't exactly his specialty. But I don't think anythin' was wrong with his heart. Fainting, no. Fatigue and weakness?" Aunt Cindy asked me and I nodded.

            "Daddy's been tired a lot lately. He's always active though, even when his personal trainer told him to rest."

            "Ah-ha!" exclaimed Dr. Gallagher, spinning around in his chair from one end of his desk to the other. "Overworking causes fatigue. I think we caught the culprit. Of course, we won't know anything until we get the results from the tests back."

            "When can we see him?" I asked.

            "Later, after we take some blood samples."

            It seemed like forever. Aunt Cindy and I sat in the crowded waiting room. Babies and small children screamed. People missed work and appointments while lingering for news on their family members. Receptionists were yelling into phones. All I could do is sit and wait and I hated it. I wanted to get up and pace but Aunt Cindy had already told me not to.

            "It just makes people nervous. I get nervous when I see other people pacing. Don't you start."

            Sighing, I wrapped myself in my mother's leather jacket and unhooked the slender gold chain that held her wedding ring from around my neck. I put the chain in the pocket of my jeans and slipped the delicate gold band onto the third finger of my left hand. It didn't feel wrong. It didn't feel right. I tried to think of the feelings my mother had felt when Daddy proposed to her. Was she terrified? Did she need time to think? Or was she so incredibly happy that she said yes without thinking? 

I shivered and took the ring off, running my fingertip along _To Max With Love_. I played with the ring for a few minutes, slipping it onto each finger and twirling it around, the whole time thinking back to my mother. I hadn't thought about her for years and now all of a sudden Daddy was in the hospital and she is the first person that pops into my mind. I held the ring up to my face and peered through it as if it were a window that would show me my mother's face. What was Daddy thinking about in that hospital bed? Mom? Me? His own welfare? Was he thinking at all?

            _Stop thinking, Maxine Guevara Cale,_ I scolded myself. _You'll make yourself sick with worry. Put that ring away, it's too easy to get mugged these days._ Hadn't Daddy said that years earlier? Ah, yes—the flower incident. I never did pick up those flowers that day, the day that started it all. What if I had gotten the flowers instead of lollygagging in my room reading and I hadn't heard Daddy and Bling talking about my mother? This whole thing was a big What If.

            "Aunt Cindy?" I asked, stringing the ring back onto the chain and fastening it around my neck again. The coldness of the gold sent a tiny chill up my neck. "What happened the day I was born?"

            "Why, didn't Logan ever tell you?" Aunt Cindy asked, reading a magazine.

            "Never a straight answer," I admitted.

            Aunt Cindy rolled up the magazine and tapped her knee with it. "Everyone thought it would be a happy day," she said.

            "I don't want to hear anything sad," I pleaded. "Tell me what happened."

            She thought a moment and laughed. "Well, Max went into labor at around noon. She say, 'Logan, call Original Cindy and tell her to meet us there.' I get this phone call, baby boo, I can't make out half the stuff yo' daddy's sayin'. It's all hurried and the only words I could make out were Max, baby and hospital."

            I laughed with her. I couldn't imagine Daddy being so harried.

            "So I run over to Foggle Towers and I see your momma and daddy just as they leavin' so I followed them into the car and we were on our way to the hospital and Max was screamin', _I want them to fill me up with drugs! Put me to sleep! Have them knock me out!_"

            I began to crack up. Some people in the noisy waiting room looked at Aunt Cindy and me as if I were crazy. "Why can't I picture a woman like my mother complaining about labor pain?"

            "I never thought I could until I seen it myself."

            We sighed at the same time and I hugged her. "Did Mom ever see me?"

            "See you? What'chu mean, baby boo?"

            "She died right after I was born, right? Did she see me or…"

            "Oh, she held you for a good ten minutes," Aunt Cindy assured me. "She fell in love with you the moment she laid eyes on you and so did Logan. I remember him saying to Max when she was about six months pregnant, 'If we have a girl I hope she looks just like you.'" She ran her finger along my cheek. "You really were a beautiful baby, Maxine. Dark hair right from the beginning, pretty little mouth and nose, your mama's kitty-cat eyes. I loved holding you, being jealous of Logan to have such a perfect child."

            "I'm sure I wasn't perfect," I crinkled my nose.

            "Nobody is," she joked.

            "Maxine Cale?" a nurse called out my name. "Is there a Maxine Cale here?"

            "Me! Nurse, that's me!" I called out, jumping out of my chair.

            The redheaded woman glared at me as if I had interrupted her. "Dr. Gallagher wants to see you now."

            I looked at the clock on the wall. Aunt Cindy and I had been waiting for a good four hours in the waiting room.

            "When they mean waiting room, they sure do mean wait," Aunt Cindy grumbled as she followed me while I followed the nurse.

            "We ran some tests," Dr. Gallagher announced when we met up with him again. "It is certain he had a stroke."

A gasp caught in my throat and I held onto Aunt Cindy, who leaned against the wall.

"We'll have the test results in twenty-four hours, to be positive about his potential anemia. You can see your father now, but only for a few minutes."

I was scared to enter Daddy's hospital room. I could hear the monotonous _bleep…bleep…bleep_ of the heart monitor and the faint hiss of the oxygen respirator. I slid down the wall and plopped onto the cold tile floor.

            "Baby boo, c'mon. Get up," Aunt Cindy hoisted me up and I clutched Mom's wedding ring, the chain cutting into my neck. "Now or never."

            I wanted to cry when I saw Daddy. He looked so pale and weak, so unlike him. His glasses were off and little pads connected to machines were stuck on his chest like round band-aids. I tried to turn around and leave but Aunt Cindy stood in my way.

            "I know you're scared but you gotta face up, baby," she whispered in my ear.

            Trembling, I walked over to Daddy's bed and sat in an old beat up armchair next to it. Aunt Cindy stood behind me.

            "Dr. Gallagher said to talk to him," she prodded, putting her hands on my shoulders. 

I cleared my throat, "Hi, Daddy," I said, choking on sobs. "I-I'm sorry I wasn't home earlier. Nikka and I were having so much fun cleaning up together. She…we were…thank you for the jacket." I took off the leather jacket and placed it in my lap. "You were right. It keeps me warm." I couldn't think of anything else to say. What do you say to your father, your only parent, who is lying helpless in a hospital bed? I but my trembling hand over his and let it rest there for a few minutes. I closed my eyes and prayed hard. I didn't know any real Christian or Catholic psalms or anything—we were never church-going—but simply talking to God would have to do.

            _Please God, Logan Cale is all I have,_ I prayed. _If You took him away I'd have to ask You to take me, too. I can't live without him. I'm his Daddy's girl. He's a good man, God, he's never hurt anything or anyone and has a heart full of love for me and other people. Let him live God, please. I'll do _anything_ for You if You'll just let him pull through. My father's been through enough over the past thirty years. You took away his legs and my mother from him—_do not_ take away his life and _do not_ take him away from me._

            Bargaining with prayer. It usually never worked according to Gina but I was desperate.

            "C'mon, Maxine, "Aunt Cindy said. "They sayin' we gotta blaze."

            "No…Aunt Cindy I can't leave. He's gonna wake up any second and I want him to see me first," I insisted. My resistance to leave was childish and I knew it but leaving was the last thing I wanted to do. "Did Daddy leave when my mother was dying?"

            "No one knew your mother was going to die, Maxine. She just did, plain as day. One of them unexplained things," Aunt Cindy spoke harshly as if all those pretty stories I was told as a young child about my mom being carried off by a beautiful angel up to Heaven were simply silly little tales. "We can't stay much longer. These people got better things to do than harass you to leave."

            _Go ahead and leave,_ I told myself. _You're eighteen, much too old to still be thinking about beautiful angels and the special place in Heaven where all the transgenics go._


	13. Close Encounter

David Normal David 2 211 2001-11-03T03:10:00Z 2001-11-03T03:10:00Z 3 1329 7579 63 15 9307 9.2720 

            I was greeted by silence and shadows of our penthouse up in Foggle Towers. Rain had begun to fall (surprise, surprise) in the dark velvet night. The kitchen clock read three AM and I felt terribly alone. I wanted to call Gina—

            _Be a big girl, Maxine,_ I scolded myself.

            I went into my bedroom, stretched out on my bed and looked up at my mother's picture. That soft smile still played on her lips, that blue boat-neck shirt still brought out her brown eyes and reddened her cheeks and those same brown eyes were still framed by long lashes black as coal. I puffed out my cheeks and blew out hot air. 

God must hate me. Hate me so much to burden me with a motherless childhood, having being lied to about my background, having the face of a dead woman and now putting Daddy in the hospital suffering a stroke.

            How many times have I blamed my mother for things that were, deep down, my fault? How many times was my mother my scapegoat? Was I really angry at God?

            I slid off my bed and sauntered into my bathroom and filled up my tub with hot water. Turning down the lights and putting on one of Daddy's classical CD's, I undressed, letting my jeans, shirt and undergarments fall to the floor in a heap, and stepped into the water. I dunked my head underneath and opened my eyes, looking up through the blurriness of the water. I blew some bubbles and watched them pop on the surface. This was very peaceful. So peaceful, I began to drift off and I closed my eyes.

            When I opened them again, I was still looking up, but I was not underwater anymore. I felt myself sit up and saw, with much suspicion, that no longer was I in my bathroom but in a small space with no windows or doors and when I looked down, I couldn't see the floor—or my feet. It was covered with smoke, like I was walking on a cloud, but I was sure it was solid underneath. Very distantly, I could hear the same classical CD I had put on earlier. I was dressed, too—in a white dress. I wore my necklace still.

            "Eva?" I heard a familiar voice call. "Eva, is that you?"

            I looked around me. No one was there until I had turned in a full circle and finished facing where I had been. My mother was standing right behind me.

            "It is you!" she exclaimed with a smile. Laughing, she made her way over to me and wrapped me in her arms with a blissful sigh. When I didn't react, she pulled away, her hands still on my shoulders. "Um, hello? You in there, Eva?" she waved a hand in front of my face. "It's only me, your mother. Remember? I was the one who was in labor for twelve hours with you?" She laughed again.

            "Am I dead?" I finally blurted.

            "Not quite. You're in limbo," Mom said grimacing. "You stayed underwater for too long."

            "Great," I said sarcastically.

            "Well, you're not going to die. You're just having a near-death experience," Mom explained. "Been there, done that."

            "Oh…" I felt faint.

            "But look at you, Eva! Aw, last time I saw you, you were only what, five minutes old?"

            "Maxine," I corrected her. "Daddy named me Maxine."

            "Why would Logan do something like that?" Mom gave me an odd look. "Where did he come up with it, anyway? He knew very well I wanted you to be Eva. I had it all planned out! Eva Lillian Cale—I found 'Lillian' in a book somewhere and it stuck in my head and I dunno, I just liked it. I pounded into Logan's head at least twenty times if not once." Mom stopped her ranting and looked at me for a minutes. Then she shook her head and muttered, "Maxine. Did he give you a middle name?" she added.

            "Guevara. Your maiden name," I answered.

            "For crying out loud…does Logan have one iota of creativity left in his head or is he getting along in his old age?" Mom asked jokingly. "Well, stand up straight, let me take a look at you!"

            I straightened up and smoothed the dress I was wearing. Mom circled me a couple of times and then cupped my chin in her hands.

            "Well, you may look like me but unfortunately you have Logan's smile and his ears. I guess you're entitled. He _is_ your father…how _is_ he, by the way? In the hospital, right?"

            "Uh-huh," I said as best I could—she was still holding my face. 

            "Can't fight that," she winced and dropped her hands. "Has he been a good father?"

            "The best," I replied. "He's very caring and compassionate and…just the best."

            "I knew it," Mom again held my hands in hers. "Well…they usually give you about ten minutes before you wake up from these things. Shall we get started?"

            "Started with what?"

            "Catching up, of course! Oh c'mon what did you think I was going to say? I've been dead eighteen years—there's tons of stuff we can talk about."

            "I'm having a near-death experience and you wanna talk girl talk?" I was confused.

            "No, I want to talk about my miserable childhood," Mom countered with a cynical undertone. She snapped her fingers and a plushy white loveseat appeared out of nowhere behind me. "Take a seat, Eva, uh, Maxine."

            Staring at my mother, I took a few steps backwards and sat down. Mom sat beside me and we were silent for a few seconds.

            "So…did you know when you were a little girl I would come down and sit on your bed and brush your hair while you were asleep?" Mom finally revealed.

            "That was you?"

            Mom nodded. "In Manticore I had my head shaved as a kid. I wanted long hair so bad. Hmm…who had curls in Logan's family?" She played with my hair. "No one on my side, that's for damn sure."

            "Daddy said when you first met, you had curly hair," I said.

            "Probably. I can't remember," she tugged at my curls like Daddy always did and I wanted to cry. "But yeah—I looked down on you a lot when you were growing up. Quiet you when you cried, push you on the swing, brush your hair…so I really didn't miss out on all that much."

            "I want to say that it was hard growing up with just Daddy," I began, "but after hearing about you and Manticore, it seems a little silly right now."

            "Nah, s'okay. Bitch all you want. I'm sure Original Cindy taught you how to do it the right way."

            I couldn't help but laugh, "Yeah, she's been a great mentor."

            "Okay, so I saw you pull that stunt with Lydecker. I'm proud of you, girl. That took guts," she nudged me playfully. "You are truly your mother's daughter."

            "Thanks, I think."

            "Don't think. It's a compliment," she let out a big puff of air, like she'd been holding her breath for a long time. "Towards the end, Lydecker got kinda cool. No longer was my worst nightmare. Any guy who can take down his own company with a smile is okay by me."

            "That one visit almost got me in serious trouble with Daddy," I explained.

            "Yeah, yeah—he's sort of overly protective of you, isn't he?"

            "I guess so. He's always had strict curfews, analyzed every one of my friends, skeptic about their parents."

            "Doesn't surprise me. I had a feeling Logan would be that kind of father. Of course, I'd probably be a much cooler mom. But I think my death made him like that, though. Didn't want to lose the biggest piece of what he'd lost, I guess. And _you_," she emphasized, "aren't happy about me being up here, right?"

            "Um…"

            "Don't hide it.  Saw your little psycho moment two years ago, don't think I ignored that. It was a little rubber band in your mind, right? Pulling, pulling, pulling, and then SNAP! You go crazy, can't control yourself, you wanna hurt, bleed, wreck…am I getting warmer?"

            "Hot," I agreed.

            "I was sitting right on the couch while you went around with the hammer."

            "Really?"

            "Would I lie?"

            I didn't answer for a few seconds. "We-ell…"

            "That wasn't _me_, _Logan_ was the one who kept it from you! I've been up _here_! Re_mem_ber?"

            "Okay, okay!"

            "I'm kinda depressed you banged up my baby…that was harsh."

            "Baby?"

            "The Ninja cycle? My baby?"

            "You called your bike your baby?"

            "Hey," Mom held up her hands in surrender, "_you_ call your car Frankie."

            I cracked up, "How did you know that? I've never told anyone, not even Gina or Nikka!"

            "I heard you in traffic one day, 'If we get out of this Frankie, I'm treating you to super unleaded gas'."

"You were there?" My jaw practically came unhinged.

"I'm practically your third foot. I was even a fan of that doc Logan made you see. I liked her. Very interesting woman."

            "Wow…how come you never made yourself, you know, noticeable?"

            Mom shrugged. "Not sure. Maybe I didn't want to scare you…uh-oh."

            "Uh-oh?"

            With a sad look on her face, she snapped again and a clock appeared in front of us. "Twelve seconds."

            "Will…will I see you again? Will you come back and maybe just say hey?" I asked hurriedly.

            "Most def," Mom said. She kissed my cheek, put something in my hand and whispered, "wake up."

            That was the last thing I remember.

            When I sat up again, I was back in the bathtub in Foggle Towers. My candles had burned out, the CD had turned off, my skin was wrinkled like a prune and it was nearing dawn. Recalling what I had experienced, my first thought was, _Was it real?_ I looked down at my hands and noticed that I was holding tightly onto something in my closed fist. I opened it and in my palm was a tiny little crystal figurine. Stepping out of the tub and flipping on the lights, I moved closer to a lamp and examined it—it was an girl, with wings and wearing a long toga. The face was that of my mother's.


	14. Good News At Last

            After a fitful night's sleep, I woke up to the pleasant sight of sun. I nearly forgot all that had happened until I noticed that Daddy wasn't here. A sob caught in my throat as I sat up in bed. I showered, dressed and went to the kitchen to make myself something to eat. But as soon as I turned on the stove, I stopped and went to the phone. I dialed Gina's number. Within a matter of a minute after she picked up, I blurted the entire story about Daddy and his condition.

            "Do you want me to come over, Maxine?" Gina asked after I'd finished. "It might make you feel better if you had some company, if I was there."

            I mused over that for a minute. "You're right Gina," I said. "I think I do need some companionship right about now."

            "Great," I could almost hear Gina's smile. "I'll come over in about fifteen minutes or so and we'll do something together."

            After saying good bye to my friend, I hung up the phone and went into Daddy's office wrapped in a memory of my childhood. I sat on the floor, looking up at a photograph of Daddy and I at my high school graduation. Next to it was another photo of the two of us at my kindergarten graduation. That gave me an idea. I got up and went to the living room, opening drawers and cabinet doors until I found what I was looking for: a box of crayons. I took the box out of the drawer and hugged it close. Then I plucked one out of the box and picked at the paper until enough crayon showed to make a decent point. I sniffed it, inhaling the familiar waxy scent, laughing the entire time.

            There is always something therapeutic about crayons that make you feel like you accomplished something. When I was very little—maybe five or six—and I was having a bad day, Daddy would get out our big box of 124-color crayons and ten feet of computer paper, tape each end of the paper to the floor and then (this was the best part) he would slide out of his wheelchair so he could sit on the floor with me and we would just color. We would sit there for hours, coloring a picture that never seemed to end. Together, flower gardens, fairy tale forests and medieval villages formed between our fingers using little nubs of paper-covered wax.

            By the time Gina arrived, I was hunting down some paper and some tape. She had let herself in and was surprised to see me running all over the place, looking for something. She looked at me as if I were crazy.

            "Maxine, what are you doing?"

            "Finding supplies," I answered, absent-mindedly. "Bingo!" I withdrew a fat stack of white paper from a cabinet in the kitchen. I set the box of crayons (only 106 remained) and the stack of paper on the coffee table and grinned at Gina. She stared at me.

            "Arts and crafts?"

            "No, crayon pictures," I explained. I placed a pink crayon in her hand and closed her fingers around it. "Daddy and I would make there when I was little. They always cheer me up."

            "I still don't get it."

            I held up a piece of computer paper and showed Gina how they were attached. "Daddy would tape about ten feet of this to the floor and then hang them up till we made a new one."

            "You are such a cornball, Maxine," Gina giggled. "Are you saying that you want to draw crayon pictures instead of going shopping?"

            "I'd rather," I admitted without missing a beat.

            Gina put her car keys on the table in the foyer, took off her jacket and helped me tape the paper to the floor. I sat at one end, she at the other. We each had a crayon in hand, poised and ready to go until a light dawned.

            "We need a theme," I said.

            "Theme, huh? You didn't just draw a random thing?"

            I shook my head. "We usually drew castles and fairy tale stuff."

            Gina, always the artiste, decided we should draw our idea of Heaven. "I think all we need right now is a little paradise."

            I squeezed Gina's hand and picked up a pink crayon and began to draw fluffy pink clouds along the bottom of my side of the paper. I drew angels blowing trumpets and playing harps. With a skilled hand, Gina depicted angels plucking guitars and four playing what looked like poker, claiming not all angels had musical talent. 

I illustrated my mother as "chief angel": sitting on a big golden chair, holding a bejeweled scepter and wearing a gold crown in place of a halo and big pink and blue wings. As I used my middle finger to blend the pink and blue, the phone rang. I was reluctant to leave, but then I remembered it could be news about Daddy, so I sprang up and raced to the phone.

"Good morning," chirped the voice of Dr. Gallagher. 

"Oh, good morning, doctor," I said, grinning. From the tone of his dialogue this had to be good news. "What's the word?"

"The word is good, Ms. Cale. Your father is awake and has been informed of his condition yet his morale is high, I'm happy to report."

"Any information on the tests?"

"He does indeed have anemia," Dr. Gallagher replied. "Not as severe as we first feared, but it's there."

"How is he?" I asked urgently, chewing on my lip.

"Comfortable, stable, can't wait to see you."

"Really?"

"Heard him say it myself."

"I'll be there as soon as I can," I replied excitedly. "Thank you, Doctor." I hung up the phone, grabbed the leather jacket, picked up my keys and raced out of the penthouse. I got to the end of the hallway when I remembered that Gina was still there. 

When I sprinted back to the penthouse and found Gina staring at me, with one eyebrow raised, giving me an expression that definitely said, "what just happened?". 

"Gina," I said breathlessly. I was panting from all the running. I jingled my keys in my hands impatiently. "My daddy…awake…hospital…c'mon!"

Gina didn't move fast enough for me. She stood, brushed her hands free from the crayons, picked up her jacket and met me at the door. I grabbed her arm and pulled her with me.

"You're dislocating my shoulder, Maxine!" she shouted as I tugged her along.

"That's okay. We're going to a hospital anyway," I joked.

Gina refused to see the humor.


	15. Recall, Miracles and Fate

            Now that there was better news awaiting me at Metro Medical, I couldn't help but enter the building with a large and silly grin plastered on my face. It had stayed there the entire ride there, too. Gina wouldn't stop laughing.

            "You and your dad are so…I don't know," she couldn't finish her sentence on account of her laughter. "I'm sorry."

            "We're all each other has, Gina," I said. "Ever hear of lovebirds?"

"I think so. They're not around anymore, I know that. What about them?" she had stopped laughing.

"Well, according to myth, if you buy a lovebird, you have to buy another one or else the first one will be so lonely it will die of a broken heart."

"First off, how'd you find out about this? Second, what does this have to do with anything?"

"I read it in a book awhile ago. And, if Daddy died I'd probably die myself of a broken heart. I'm just happy he's alive and well. And asking for me."

            "No kidding he's been asking for you. You should be handcuffed to him."

            "I bet he hates hospitals," I said, more to myself than to Gina. "He's been in and out of them almost his whole life. Especially since my mom…"

            "You still think about her?"

            "Of course," I said. "She's my mother. I might not have known her personally but I knew her for nine months and that's special. There's no stronger bond than that of a woman and her unborn child."

            "That's sweet," Gina said, with a soft but true smile breaking out on her lips.

            "Listen, would you be offended if I dropped you off at your house? I don't think they'll let me bring you with me."

            "No. Besides, I shouldn't be there anyway. This is sort of a private matter between you and your dad."

            When I pulled up in front of Gina's building, we gave each other a friendly kiss on the cheek and she squeezed my hand.

            "Hope everything goes smoothly and tell your dad I said get well soon!" Gina said as she got out of the car.

            "I will," I promised and drove off.

            The waiting room in which I had lingered with Aunt Cindy only the night before had a more pleasant disposition. My smile wouldn't fade, even when I encountered a scowling receptionist who sourly reprimanded me for asking to see Daddy.

            "That patient needs his rest. Immediate family only."

            "Logan Cale is my father. I'm his daughter Maxine."

            "Do you have ID?"

            "ID?" I reached into my pocket and pulled out my driver's license. "Right here. It says on top, Maxine Guevara Cale. Care to take a DNA sample?"

            The receptionist glared at me and pointed in the direction where Daddy was. "Room 712-D Floor 4."

            Childishly skipping, I made my way down the corridor to the elevator. Nothing could break my spirit now. 

            I rode the elevator to the fourth floor and went to room 712-D, where a redheaded nurse was just leaving.

            "Oh, hello," she said, smiling. "Are you here to see Mr. Cale?"

            "Yes," I returned her grin. "I'm his daughter."

            "Oh! You're Maxine!" the nurse shook my hand. "He won't stop talking about you."

            I felt myself blush. Daddy loved to brag about me.

            "I'm Meinka," she said. "I'm your father's nurse. He's become a fast favorite among the nurses, I must say. He's always got a smile, it seems. I shouldn't keep you two apart for long—he's been waiting to see you." Meinka winked and hurried off.

            Beaming, I stepped into Daddy's hospital room. He was sitting up in bed with his glasses on. 

            "Maxine," he exclaimed when he saw me. "Come over here and give your sick old daddy a hug."

            I went over to his hospital bed and wrapped my arms around Daddy in a warm embrace. He felt thinner than I'd last hugged him, but I was sure it was my imagination.

            _He's only been comatose for a day and a half, silly child,_ I chided myself.

            Daddy stroked my cheek and tugged on a curl before I sat in a chair next to his bed. He sighed deeply and laced his fingers together.

            "I'm fifty-nine, Maxine, and almost perfectly healthy and all of a sudden I get struck down. Fifty-nine years of living to the fullest and what do I get?"

            "Another fifty-nine," I said firmly. "Having anemia isn't everything, Daddy, and it's only a slight case. As long as you're careful about what you do from now on…"

            "I know, I know. I went through all this with the doctor already, kitten."

            "I'm just glad you're better," I said. "How did you fall out of your wheelchair, anyway?"

            Daddy winced, "Oh yeah. I was looking for something I wrote a long time ago…a journal I had kept…in it, I wrote some poems about Max."

            "You wrote poetry for Mom? That's so sweet," I gushed. "Can you remember any of them?"

            Daddy's eyes swung up towards the ceiling as if he was trying to remember. Then, slowly, he started to recite, "Forever eyes. Dark. Somebody's angel…that's all I recall. She tore it out of the journal and took it home with her and told me she kept it with her always and read it almost every night to herself."

            "That's so romantic."

            "I guess so. Maxine, I was so embarrassed when she asked to read the poem, I turned bright red."

            I laughed, "I can picture that…where is it?"

            "The journal? It's somewhere on a shelf in a closet or something. I haven't written in it for at least…well, almost twenty years. I was trying to reach a box and I slipped and fell out of my wheelchair. I hit my head, got all dizzy…that's the last thing I remember. Anyway, I wanted you to have it."

            "Why? You should keep writing in it."

            "Like I said, I haven't in almost twenty years. Not since Max died. I thought you'd like to have it because it would be a nice thing to have with you when you're all the way in California."

            "What does it look like?" I asked softly. "I'll find it for you when I get home."

            "It's brown leather, with a sketch on the cover."

            "Okay," I said. "I'll got hunt it down."

            "I'm sorry I gave you such a scare, kitten," Daddy apologized, tugging a curl.

            "Don't be," I insisted, holding his hand. "It's true, I was scared I was going to loose you but I prayed for a miracle…and I got one."

            "I prayed for a miracle, once upon a time," Daddy said, almost whispering it as if revealing a secret. "And I got mine, too."

            "What was it?" I leaned closer and spoke in a low voice, like Daddy did.

            "You were born. My little Earth angel, my baby Maxine," he kissed my forehead. "Our miracle right from the beginning."

            "I couldn't have been very lucky," I responded. "Mom…she di—"

            "You didn't kill her," Daddy assured me. "That wasn't your fault. It was fate."

            "Fate's not fair." A fugitive tear trickled down my cheek.

            Daddy wiped the tear away. "Fate brought your mother and I together. If anything, Fate is a friend of mine."


	16. My Father the Poet

            I stayed with Daddy as long as I could, from noon to almost six. The redheaded nurse I'd met before, Meinka, who had spoke fondly of Daddy, had politely told me that I had to leave, with a promise that Daddy would be out of the hospital within the week. The receptionist who had glowered at me as I entered the hospital earlier gave me a dirty look as I left, but I didn't dwell on it for too long.

            As soon as I got home, I ransacked every closet in the penthouse for about two hours until I finally unearthed it in the very top shelf of the hall closet

            "YES!" I exclaimed, proud of myself. 

            It was exactly what Daddy had described it to be: bound in brownish tan leather, black letters embossed that simply read, **JOURNAL**. The sketch was in black ink, and it was of a bird. It looked like a blue jay. 

            Setting it on the coffee table, I began to put everything I'd taken out back into its place before I made myself some tea and read what Daddy had written more than over twenty years ago. I flipped through the pages of my father's usual messy script, holding back sneezes as a cloud of dust attacked me. I then closed the book and my eyes and opened up to a random page and read the long poem out loud to myself, enjoying the light-hearted rhymes that fit together like a puzzle,

"The statue glittered in the foyer,

a priceless article her hands so longed to caress.

'I could fence this for at least a thou,'

she thought to herself, no sign of distress.

From the Space Needle she traveled

to Foggle Towers that night

Knowing the entire time

She wouldn't go down without a fight.

Hastily smashing a window

Of the penthouse into which she broke,

Startled two occupants

And their eyes popped open and awoke.

A third was in his office,

Expecting something bad.

So he ordered his guard to see who it was,

But not leaving without his gun in hand.

She froze in fear with a look of shock

Plastered on her pretty face.

As she met the one with the gun,

Immediately she thought, 'I need to get out of this place!'

The third dweller came up behind her

And threatened her with a shotgun of his own

He pointed it at her and

Ordered her to put the statue down.

With great caution and much concern,

On the table she set the piece.

Then held her breath and hoped to God

He hadn't called the police.

While the third's back was turned, 

She swiftly got away.

Knowing that was a big mistake

She wouldn't be returning to that house

Soon any day.

The third was still in his home,

Scratching his head in confusion

Of to what this thief was up to

And her unexpected intrusion.

He went on to seek her out

To find out who she might be.

From her boss as he got her name and address,

He thought, 'Or else it will continue to haunt me.'

The following night, after work and in her own apartment,

She retired to her room.

The tenement she shared with another girl 

Was as silent as a tomb.

Before she began to settle down for the night,

She re-roused abruptly.

On her table by her bed was the statue

She had tried to steal the night previously.

He stood outside the decrepit building

In which he knew she resides

Wondered if she liked the present

He had purposely left inside.

As he drove home in his beat up car,

Which was far away from her place,

He knew it wasn't the last time

He would see her face.

-Logan Cale, 1/2/10."

            Recalling what Aunt Cindy and Daddy had told me once, my parents had met with Mom trying to steal a statue of an ancient Egyptian goddess. Perceptibly Daddy was writing about that night. Laughing to myself I quickly flipped to another page and read aloud again. The apartment was too quiet and I needed to hear a voice echo throughout the place, even if it was my own,

"Perfect strangers,

Yet we've met.

Secrets that haunt her past

Come to invade mine—

It keeps us separated.

The foreboding idiocy

That prevented me from reaching out

To touch her hair, stroke her face,

To even plant a kiss like the seed of the reddest, sweetest blossom

Upon her cherry lips.

Why did I not grasp the chance?

I had it and the cruel hand of

Genetics slaps us both in the face.

We will forever remain

Perfect strangers.

-Logan Cale, 9/16/10."

            According to the date on which he wrote it, my mother still had that virus I had learned about way back when. He most likely wrote this about how the virus was keeping them apart. Curious about what else he could have written, I flipped to the second-to-last poem in the book. First I read it to myself, but it was so sad, I had to re-read it aloud, as if confirming it was really there,

"The angel that once flew

Like a nightingale's melodious song on a summer night;

Swiftly stolen was her life.

Gone.

Like the birds who soar for a better tomorrow

When the cold is too much—

I feel that cold now, settling within my very soul.

Dark.

Like the void I feel when I see she's not there…

I see her wilted like a delicate rose surviving the ordeal of a harsh winter.

Love.

Something she knew briefly and had forever.

Max.

-Logan Cale, 12/21/29."

            With a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes, I noticed the date was exactly five days after my birthday. I was barely a week old at the time and obviously Daddy felt incredible grief. 

            _Aunt Cindy mentioned he was a bit withdrawn after Mom died,_ I thought. _Maybe, like I had seen Doctor Barnaby, he wrote poems therapeutically._

            The very last poem in the book before a series of blank pages was the only one with a title. It was called "Earth Angel" and pressed between the pages was a very old picture. It was hard to make out what it was but I put it directly under a side table lamp and it was a picture of my mother in the hospital, her hair wet and face flushed and smiling weakly, cradling a newly-born _me_. Never have I seen this photograph and it intrigued me. This must have really been the last picture ever taken of her, not the one Daddy looked at longingly, which he kept wrapped in the ancient white knitted sweater she had slaved over for years. I put the picture back and read the poem,

"All is not lost,

Love is not gone.

The black hole that once invaded

My mind, body and soul is now fictional.

I have a little angel in my arms;

One who smiles when I smile, laughs when I laugh

And is comforted by the simple beat of my own heart.

Miracles do happen.

This one is named Maxine.

-Logan Cale, 4/30/30."

            It was short and sweet and it made me cry. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve, foolishly smearing my sepia mascara all over my red long sleeved T-shirt.

            "Oh, shit," I blubbered when I noticed the stain I'd haphazardly made. _Oh well,_ I thought, examining the brown blemish. _At least now I can cut off the sleeves and have a new tank top to wear in California._

            I stole a glance out the big windows and noticed the sky was invaded with discolored clouds, casting a jaundiced look over Seattle. My eyes then noticed the almost-finished crayon picture still taped to the floor that Gina and I had began early that afternoon. The crayons were still strewn about and Gina's poker-playing angels were only half completed. Since I had not seen all she'd drawn, I reviewed it. Besides poker and guitars, that clever friend of mine also had angels playing trumpets riding on white horses with slivery manes and golden-tipped wings, plus some hilariously raunchy-looking angels enjoying a hot tub, wearing (instead of the cliché flowing robes) bikinis and Speedos, and four angels were playing what looked like pool to enjoying what appeared to be martinis.

            I had to chuckle at the way Gina pictured Heaven. Of course, her drawings were almost perfect, considering the fact we had done them with twelve-year-old stubborn crayons. Thinking it would be a nice surprise, I put on some music, crouched on the floor and did my best to complete our rendition of Paradise. 

            Humming to the music, I contemplated the poems I had flipped through. My father was seriously multi-talented: an amazing cook, a brilliant poet, a computer genius and the greatest dad in the entire world.


	17. New Starts

TWO YEARS LATER … 

            I was now a sophomore at Berkley, majoring in Literature and Education. I knew I wanted to be a teacher and since I loved to read and write poetry (inspired by Daddy's early works) I decided English would be the best subject for me.

            The dorms were small yet cozy. On my side of the room, I had pictures of my mother, Daddy, Aunt Cindy and Gina. Daddy's journal in which he wrote the beautiful poems about and for my mother, was never far from me. When the moment struck me, I would occasionally write my own verse. Nikka, the girl I worked alongside with at The Café, was on the same floor as I was and we went out together as often as possible.

            I missed Daddy terribly, but I never showed it. If Gina knew she'd be hysterical with giggles and I probably would be, too. I called Daddy every other night and every other weekend I drove up to Seattle to spend the weekend and without haste I spent the holidays with him too. Whenever I was there, I made sure he was eating right and healthy, did his exercises and cleaned the house.

            "Maxine, will you please stop?" Daddy would protest. "I'm a big kid. I can take care of myself."

            "Yeah, I know," I admitted. "But first the parents work all their lives taking care of the kids and then the kids take care of the parents in return."

            "You spoil me, Maxie," Daddy said, tugging a curl. 

            My roommate was a demure Kansas girl with light brown hair, blue-green eyes and a small frame. Her name was Harmony Pfeiffer. She was shy and soft spoken but a hard worker, considering the fact her chosen major was nuclear physics. Unfortunately, she preferred usually to hide her pretty eyes behind thick, black-rimmed glasses and concealed herself in the dorm, either studying or reading or doing papers. Yet Harmony was a great conversationalist and we, surprisingly, got along great and had a lot in common.

            She, too, had no mother. Mrs. Pfeiffer had died of breast cancer when Harmony was five. She was jealous when I told her how devoted Daddy was to me.

            "My father thinks there are twenty-five hours in a day," she replied sourly. "He works all the time and the only one who even notices me is Aunt Leigha, my father's sister, who moved in to take care of me after my mom passed away."

            "My godmother moved in until I was six months old," I told her, pointing out another thing we shared, "because my father was too depressed to take care of me."

            I tried to get Harmony to go out with Nikka and I more often, but it was incredibly hard. Even when Nikka ambushed her and gave her a make-over and everyone complimented her, she stayed holed up in the dorm. After some time we figured it was no use, but I still tried to be close friends with her. Eventually I succeeded.

            Daddy had given me my mother's Ninja as a going-away present at the beginning of this year.

            "It's a great cycle," he admitted as he handed me the keys. "Plus you might want it on beautiful days when you don't want to be in your car. It's a shame it's going to waste in Original Cindy's storage locker."

            "Oh Daddy, I couldn't," I said shakily, remembering the time I'd destroyed it. Of course Daddy had fixed it up, but still… "I don't know how…"

            "If you can ride a bike, you can ride a motorcycle, I promise," Daddy smiled. I bet he was trying to forget that once upon a time I took a hammer to it.

            So I took it for its first spin in a long, long time and I did enjoy it. In my mother's leather jacket and on my mother's motorcycle, looking exactly like her, I bet it gave Daddy the chills. Either way, he was happy to give the cycle to me. 

It was almost a ritual for me to take a ride around town around two PM, when most of my classes were over. I loved nighttime so much that I had chosen mostly daytime courses so I could be free during the evening.

Everyone who knew me and even some who didn't would see me saunter off to the parking lot in the leather jacket and go roaring off on the Ninja and say either to themselves or to someone else,

"There goes Maxine Cale, off for her daily ride."

But this afternoon as I got on the Ninja, after hung my canvas bag with Daddy's journal from the hook on the seat. I started it up and nothing happened. It sputtered and gave a loud _POP_ and the muffler started smoking.

"Shit!" I coughed, waving the smoke away from me. I turned the cycle off and knelt on my hands and knees to see what was wrong. A shadow cast over me.

"Need help?"

I looked up and squinted. This guy was easily six foot five, with dark hair that spiked up a little and brilliant green eyes—so green they seemed surreal. He wore a pair of jeans, a dark green T-shirt and a black, white and dark green plaid button-down shirt flapping open over it.  On his feet were black combat boots and over his shoulder he had slung a red backpack. He was incredibly good-looking. I swallowed hard.

"I…I might," I said, standing. I only came to his shoulder. I brushed some gravel off my palms and looked over my shoulder at the poor bike. "This bike's older than me. Who knows what could be wrong."

He let his backpack fall to the ground and knelt at the muffler, peering into it. He then announced that it was clogged.

"Clogged? With what?" I panicked.

"Can't tell," he stood. "Most likely a senior prank if you ask me."

"How would you know? Are you a senior?"

"No. Sophomore. Actually, I'm Daley. Daley Westlight," he extended his hand and I shook it.

"Maxine Cale."

"Nice to meet you. Great name. I've never known a Maxine before."

"I've never known a Daley."

"Daley's not my real name."

"Oh?" I crouched again and picked up a nearby stick and began fiddling with the muffler.

"Dale is my middle name. My first name's Andrew but I prefer Daley," Daley explained, kneeling next to me and watched me poke at the muffler. 

"Wish I could go by my middle name," I mumbled, loud enough for Daley to hear me.

"Which is?"

"Guevara," I said, using the sharper end of the stick to dig out whatever was in there. "My mother's maiden name. Can't do much with that."

"Your mom name you?" Daley asked casually and sat cross-legged. I felt a little uncomfortable yet at ease. I haven't really talked to guys as friends like this, not even in school.

"Nope, my dad did. My mom died having me."

"Oh. I'm sorry," Daley said sympathetically. 

"It's okay," I assured him. I examined the stuff I dug out of the muffler and so far it looked like either dirt, coffee, or soil with bits of paper. "Shit. Whatever's in here is packed in tight." I let my knees hit the ground and swung my legs around so I could sit like Daley. "Well, since my afternoon plans are screwed and I practically told you my life story, how about you tell me about you."

"I'm horrifyingly normal."

"Do tell," I prodded, throwing away the stick. I blew a curl away from my face. "Ugh. I give up. Anyway about you family?"

"My mom's a housewife, my dad's a banker and my sister is a high-school junior, a typical teenager."

"That _is_ scary."

Daley laughed. "Yeah, well…there are times I pray that I'm adopted but they're okay."

"Well, I can honestly say I'm my mother's daughter," I scoffed. "I look exactly like her." I took out my wallet and showed Daley the picture of Mom on the motorcycle. "That's my mother, Max Guevara Cale. The first."

"Hmm," Daley scrutinized the photo. "You do look mirror image."

"So," I said, snapping my wallet shut and putting it back in my coat. "What's your major, Daley?"

"History," Daley said, plucking a piece of grass from the side of the parking lot touching the lawn. "My minor's Art History." He used the blade of grass like a paint brush. "I like history."

"I noticed," I laughed.

"What's your major?" Daley plucked a thistle and tucked it behind my ear. 

My heart fluttered in a good way. "Literature and Education. I want to be an English teacher." I pulled Daddy's journal out of my canvas bag. "I write some poetry, too."

"Can I see?" Daley asked.

"Sure. Just be careful, it's an old journal."

"Who's Logan Cale?" he asked when he flipped though the pages.

"My father," I replied, blushing. "It was his journal before he told me it would be of some use to me. The ones I wrote are near the back."

Daley flipped to near the end of the leather-bound book and read aloud in a deep voice,

"I used to think my life was cursed,

an empty abyss, a turn for the worse.

Living in the shadow of another

Unfortunately the shadow was that of my mother.

I had her face and her name, you see,

Making it hard for me to be me.

I used to think I was not original

just a copy, not individual at all.

The loss of my mother was bad enough

For me to be her clone was certainly rough.

I used to think my mother was cruel,

I thought it was against the rule

To have her leave before I got a chance

To hear her speak or have her see me dance.

So, my mother, to you I say,

Even though you're gone I think about you every day.

            "Wow," Daley closed the journal and handed it back to me. "That's…that's pretty good. Kind of…haunting."

            My face flushed again. "Well, I'm not as good as my father is. This is only chicken scratch compared to what Daddy wrote."

            "I can't say I'm an expert on poetry, but _I_ think it's good." Then as if realizing what he said, Daley also went red, more his ears than his face. "Uh, you, ah wanna go for coffee? We can take my car."

            "Oh. Sure," I said. Daley stood and offered his hand to help me up.


	18. The First Meeting

I became great friends with Daley over the following years, becoming closer and closer almost each week. We went to concerts together, we went out to eat, we partied, we hung out on campus and yes, we did finally fix my motorcycle (someone had packed it with old newspaper and dirt and then we found out it had not only happened to me, but four other people owning motorcycles). Then came the one year I took Daley up to meet Daddy.

            "I have to tell you something," I announced to Daley as we drove up to Seattle one weekend during senior year for my ritual visit, "before you meet my father."

            "He knows I'm coming, right?" Daley put his finger in his book to mark his place. He had the rare ability to read in the car without getting nauseous.

            "Of course. But…I have to warn you so you don't go all AWOL or scared or anything."

            "Why would I be scared? Seriously, Maxine, what's up?"

            "My father's in a wheelchair," I blurted, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. "He was shot near the spine back in 2019 and it paralyzed him from the waist down."

            Daley was quiet for a minute. "I guess I should admit to you that my sister's in a wheelchair, too."

            "Samantha? The one who plays basketball and sings and is always on the phone? Your sister Samantha?" I was a bit surprised.

            "I didn't want to tell you either," Daley admitted. "But I guess there's nothing to be afraid of now."

We exchanged private smiles as we approached Foggle Towers. 

"Here goes nothing," I sighed, pulling into the parking lot. Daddy's Aztec was where it always was, still looking like it hadn't been washed since the Pulse.

Daley held my hand in his as we rode the elevator up to Daddy's penthouse. He could sense I was nervous. I very rarely had friends to bring home to meet him—aside from Gina, Nikka, Ro McClintock and Mavoureen Limon, I didn't really have many friends, especially guy-friends. The elevator stopped with a _ding_.

"Ready to meet the phenomenon that is Logan Cale?" I teased Daley. 

"Ready as I'll ever be," he squeezed my hands and we stepped out of the elevator.

"Daddy!" I called. "We're here! Unlock yourself from your office!"

"He locks himself in his office?" Daley whispered to me.

"No," I replied. "But he spends so much time in there he might as well."

As we waited for Daddy, Daley eyed the penthouse, letting out some whistles here and there in a mild reaction. I knew he felt a little funny seeing all these pictures of Mom that Daddy had everywhere.

"I can't tell who's you and who's your mother," Daley revealed. "You really do look mirror image. How old was she when she died? You never told me."

"Twenty-nine," I whispered. "Do me a favor and don't let him know I told you. He gets real emotional about her, still, even after twenty-one years."

"Well, Maxine," Daddy said with a slight smirk on his face as he wheeled into the room. He looked Daley up and down, surprised when he didn't have a shocked look on his face, seeing that he was in a wheelchair. "Let's meet this guy you've been raving about."

I took a deep breath, put on a pleasant smile and said, "Daddy, this is my very good friend—"

"Andrew Dale Westlight," Daley announced, using his full name, surprising me. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Cale." He stuck out his hand in greeting and Daddy shook it. "Maxine's told me so much about you and with much gusto."

"Uh, well," Daddy raised an eyebrow. That was a good sign—it usually meant he was impressed. "I can believe that. Maxine and I have always been close, considering my wife passed away early in her life."

"I understand," Daley said. "And I must say I'm overwhelmed with your art collection."

"You study art?" Daddy wheeled a bit closer and sat back in his chair. I noticed he had actually managed to dress up a little in one of his nicer shirts and slacks.

"Art history. It's my minor."

"Interesting," Daddy gave me a knowing look. The look in his eyes told me, _you have yourself a good catch, Maxine._

To my surprise (and probably Daley's too), the two most important men in my life got along famously. Daley was impressed with Daddy's computer collection and modern technology gadgets and the latest gear. Daddy was interested in Daley's artistic knowledge and took him around the penthouse and compared notes about every painting we owned while I trailed behind them with the broom, keeping everything clean.

            "Really, Daddy," I huffed when we had a minute alone together. I had sent Daley out to gather our things from the car. "You should hire a cleaning lady. I'm only here every other weekend."

            "I don't like the idea of people lurking around my house," Daddy protested. "When Mom was alive, it didn't really matter."

            "Because all of them were genetically engineered transgenics who wouldn't hurt a fly?" I said sardonically and winked.

            "Well, in one way or another," Daddy returned the joke. He squeezed my knee with affection. "I like this kid, Maxine. I really do."

            I paused for a moment before responding. "I'm glad," I said finally. "Because…I think I love him."

            Daddy blinked in surprise and then his face broke into a wide grin. He tugged at a curl. "I can't say I've never wanted a son, Maxine, especially when Mom was pregnant for the first time. But you know the old saying about Daddy's girl."

            I turned scarlet slightly. "I'll…you know no matter what happens, I'll always be your little Daddy's girl. I always have been."

            "Hey, don't think I don't know that. Heck, I knew before you were born that you would be my Daddy's girl."

            I laughed. "What if I was a boy?"

            "I guess I'd still love you…by a long shot," he teased and gave a long sigh. "What would I do without you? Genuinely, Maxine, do you know how many times I ask myself that? 'What would I do without my little Maxine?'"

            "A lot," I smiled.

            "Oh, more than a lot. Try every time I watch you leave. I think to myself, now where would I be without this Earth Angel? She spoils me so. Who makes sure Daddy eats right? Who makes sure Daddy's house is clean? Who makes sure Daddy takes his medicine?"

            "Who makes sure Daddy doesn't die of loneliness?"  I smiled softly. Daddy shook with laughter, trying to hold it in.

            "I know you're trying to be serious, but I can't help but chuckle," he admitted. "Sorry."

            "It's okay," I widened my grin and we embraced.

            As we parted, Daddy brushed a stray curl behind my ear and I knew he was thinking about my mother. Was there ever a time when he wasn't when he looked at me? "Well," Daddy sighed. "I must say, after having a little girl of my own, I have something even better to look forward to in the future."

            "Oh yeah?" I propped my head up in my palms and rested my elbows on my knees. "What's that?"

            Daddy smiled at me with laughter in his eyes, "Why, granddaughters, of course."


	19. Death Is Never Welcomed

            The cool yet comfortable April breeze entered the cemetery and blew across my face, stroking my cheeks and forehead like a cold washcloth soothing a fever. A few tresses escaped from my Pollyanna knot that I had styled my hair into that day. In my hands I carried a few gardening tools and I had some flower buds in my canvas bag. I stopped in front of the familiar double-headstone, knelt and pressed my lips to the cold marble in almost a ceremonial kiss. 

            "I'm back," I announced, running my fingers over the memorable engraving. I'd read it so many times the words almost had no meaning but of course they were important.

CALE 

_LOGAN JULIUS                                  MAX GUEVARA_

_            November 11, 1988-                           April 27, 2000-_

_            June 14, 2065                                      December 16, 2029_

Beloved parents of Maxine 

            Seeing my own name and birth-date on the tombstone didn't chill me in the slightest. I felt almost proud.

I did not cry at all. I had not cried for my parents for a long time. It didn't seem necessary. Instead every time I visited, I brought a wide smile. One would most likely rule this inappropriate but I figured even though both my parents were gone, they were together in Heaven for all eternity. And I was never without fresh flowers to plant. Today I had roses.

"I think some red roses would spruce it up a bit," I said as I dug up the dead daisies I had planted a few weeks before. "These daisies didn't last too long and they were a little too boring."

I often spoke to them as if they were right there, watching me plant these flowers.

"I was going to get some white roses and some white tulips," I said, pulling on some battered gardening gloves so I wouldn't ruin my manicure, "but the lady and the shop said white flowers attract bugs and that wouldn't look very nice, would it?"

I paused and cocked my head as I worked. The laughter of my six year old twins, Logan and Christina, echoed throughout the necropolis, hand-in-hand, admiring flowers and reading the names off the tombstones out loud. My husband Daley followed a few steps behind to make sure the adorable imps didn't get into any trouble.

Daley and I married two years out of college and the twins weren't born until almost five years later. I think Daddy was happy we didn't have children right away, all though he loved Logan and Christina as much if not more than me. 

When we first married, though, we lived in the apartment below Daddy's, despite the fact it might have bothered Daley but he respected how close I was to my father and I loved him more for the very reason. Every day I would go upstairs to Daddy and spend a few hours with him as soon as I returned from work, even when I became pregnant and I was chastised for climbing the stairs during my third trimester.

My first teaching job came my way when I was twenty eight. I applied for a position at Ellen Pingry High School and they hired me almost immediately. They were dangerously low on staff and I was more than grateful to take the job.

Daley taught an Advanced Art class at the county college before he was snatched up by St. George's High School a US & World History teacher.

Logan Andrew and Christina Jane Westlight were born on May 14, 2059 and Christina was first by four minutes. Daley named her Christina for his grandmother and I, of course, named Logan after Daddy. If anyone was a proud grandparent, it was Daddy. He spoiled both of them from the minute he held them.

"Much like I did with you, Maxine," he joked.

When I went back to work after the twins were born, when they were seven months old, they stayed with Daddy until I came home. He loved their company.

As much as I tried to take care of Daddy, his anemia suddenly grew worse. I came to check on him one day a few days before he died and he was practically passed out on the couch.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" I asked him. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he insisted.

"Have you eaten?"

Daddy sat up, lifted himself into the wheelchair and turned away from me. "Maxine, I don't need you checking up on me like this."

"Daddy, look at me," I put my hands on his shoulders and looked into his blue eyes. "Have. You. Been. Eating?"

"Well," Daddy wheeled into the kitchen. I followed. "Sometimes I get so wrapped up when I take care of the twins, I sometimes I eat a little bit or forget all together."

"Daddy, you can't do that. Your anemia, remember?"

"I have enough strife to deal with, Maxine," Daddy said. "Please, stop worrying about me eating when you have my two spoiled grandkids to feed."

I forced a chuckle and kissed him. "Okay, Daddy. Promise me you'll eat?"

"Scout's honor," he said. "Look, see? I'm opening the refrigerator right now."

"I see. Just remember you gave me scout's honor."

"I never forget. Now, where did I put that copper pan?"

That was the last time I saw him in a mobile state. When I went to check on him and bring the twins over the next morning, he didn't wake up. Or rather he did, but he was very weak. He was lying in bed when I found him, scarcely breathing.

"Momma what's wrong with Grampa?" Logan asked when I backed out of the room, slowly, with tears on my face. 

"Nothing. I mean, I don't know. Logan, listen to me," I knelt to eye level with my son and held his arms. "Can you be a big boy and do Momma a favor?"

He nodded eagerly. 

"I want you and Christina to go downstairs, tell Daddy to come up here and then stay downstairs and play with your toys, watch television, but don't come back up till Daddy or I say it's okay. Can you do that, Logan?"

"Yes, Momma…"

Christina came up behind her brother. "Momma, why can't we see Grampa?"

"You will," I insisted. "Not now. Please do as I say, Logan. Hurry."

Logan took his sister by the hand and they hurried out f the pent house. As I heard to door slam, I hurried into Daddy's bedroom, took one of his hands into mine and with the other I dialed the paramedics.

"Maxine?" I heard Daley's voice echo throughout the penthouse as he arrived.

"In the bedroom," I replied, kneeling beside Daddy's bed.

"What's wrong?" asked Daley as he entered the room. 

"My father … I think he's dying," I sobbed. "I told him to eat … he didn't listen, did he? Oh God, Daley I can't loose him."

The paramedics arrived five minutes later and I left with them to go to the hospital. Daley followed with the twins in my car. Dr. Gallagher had went into action almost immediately. Later he announced that Daddy had had a stroke.

"He's in a coma now," he said gravely. "Mrs. Westlight," he took my hand. "I'm so sorry. There's nothing I can do."

"Nothing you can do?" I cried. "You have to save him!" I was in a panic. "This man has brought me up since the day, no the hour, no the second I was born! I've never lived a life without him and I can't do it yet. Please, Dr. Gallagher …"

"Mrs. Westlight, please," Dr. Gallagher continued in a soft voice. "Mr. Cale is on life support now. If he does in fact pull through he'll have permanent brain damage and possibly be quadriplegic. I don't mean to sound harsh but I've known your father for a long time and I don't think that's the kind of life he'll want to live."

I took a shuddery breath and asked if I could see him.

"Of course," Dr. Gallagher replied.

            "Can he hear me?" I asked.

            "It's plausible."

            Dr. Gallagher took me to Daddy's room. On the walk there, I said,

            "You never told me how long you've actually known Daddy."

            "Oh quite awhile. My grandfather Sam Carr was his doctor back in the day. He and your father were friends. Dr. Carr's daughter Lisa is my mother."

            "Interesting," was all I could say. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

            "We're going to take good care of him, Mrs. Westlight."

            I was never so scared as I was now. 

            I sat by Daddy's side for three days. I was afraid to leave, terrified that he might die without me beside him. I didn't go home, barely ate or drank. I wouldn't even get up to use the lavatory unless Daley was there to sit by Daddy. Until finally it all ended. He died at 4:15 PM on June 14th, with his favorite daughter holding his hand.

            "Say hello to Mom for me," I whispered to him.


	20. Epilogue

**A/N:** To my dearest, faithful fans (a.k.a. anyone who's ever reviewed this story—those of you who read and don't…pfft on you), you guys have been so nice to me with all your reviews. _Shadows of an Angel_ was my very first fanfic and it's my baby! I'm so proud of it, that I actually finished a story! I'm the World's Biggest Procrastinator and all your reviews pushed me to finish until, "Hey! I wrote a book!" (well, not a book … you know what I mean). Anyway, I'm putting this song as the epilogue because, well, what else is there to tell? It's my new favorite song by Lifehouse and it's called "Breathing." For some odd and unexplained reason, it reminds me of this story. I thank you again for your loyalty…as _Shadows of an Angel_ comes to a close…

I'm finding my way back to sanity again  
Though I don't really know what  
I'm gonna do when I get there  
And take a breath and hold on tight  
Spin around one more time  
And gracefully fall back to the arms of grace

Cause I am hanging on every word you say  
And even if you don't want to speak tonight  
That's alright, alright with me  
Cause I want nothing more than to sit  
Outside Heaven's door and listen to you breathing  
Is where I want to be yeah  
Where I want to be

I'm looking past the shadows  
In my mind into the truth  
And I'm trying to identify  
The voices in my head  
God, which one's you  
Let me feel one more time  
What it feels like to feel  
And break these calluses off of me  
One more time

Cause I am hanging on every word you say  
And even if you don't want to speak tonight  
That's alright, alright with me  
Cause I want nothing more than to sit  
Outside your door and listen to you breathing  
Is where I want to be yeah

I don't want a thing from you  
Bet you're tired of me waiting  
For the scraps to fall  
Off of your table to the ground  
Cause I just want to be here now

Cause I am hanging on every word you say  
And even if you don't want to speak tonight  
That's alright, alright with me  
Cause I want nothing more than to sit  
Outside Heaven's door and listen to you breathing  
Is where I want to be yeah  
Where I want to be


End file.
